


Heteroflexible

by MaxWrite



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Death of Real Person, M/M, Masturbation, Polyamory, RPF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-11-02 17:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10949199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxWrite/pseuds/MaxWrite
Summary: There's an exception to every rule.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _"As a fairly unadventurous straight male, there are only a few dicks on this planet that I would happily feast upon. One of them belongs to this man (technically two, if the rumours are true)."_ \- [Simon Pegg presenting the Man of the Year Award to Chris Pine at the 2016 GQ Awards](https://www.facebook.com/BritishGQ/videos/10154051741721051/)
> 
> I mean … damn.

**London**

"We're all still doing black, right?" Chris asks.

"Yeah," Simon's voice replies from the phone lying on the bathroom counter top in Chris's hotel suite. "Pretty safe bet for a London premiere."

"You wearing a tie?"

"Thought I might, yeah."

"Okay, I won't, then. We don't wanna be too matchy."

Simon adopts a lisp and a slightly nasal voice and asks, "So, what about your shoes?"

Chris smiles. He's talking to Simon as he finishes making himself look halfway decent. He's got professionals dropping by soon to get him all the way ready for the premiere, then it's into his suit and off to the venue. He should probably hurry; he's still wearing nothing but a towel and his skin's still damp. Simon's doing the same two floors above.

"How're you feeling?" Simon asks when Chris remains quiet.

It's obvious why he's asking. They've all been checking up on each other a lot since last month. None of them have to say why. Chris shrugs at the mirror as he slathers his face with moisturizer.

"Good. Better now that we're all together."

"Yeah, me too," Simon replies somberly.

"You still nervous?"

"'Bout the movie? Sure. Always. Maybe more so this time."

"They're gonna love it," Chris assures him.

"It's not just because I co-wrote it. How's everyone gonna feel about it now that… what about his family-"

"Simon," Chris gently interrupts. He finishes moisturizing and leans a hip against the counter's edge as he frowns at the phone. "Simon, listen to me. It's amazing. You and Doug killed it. And you did him justice." He pauses, has to take a moment to make sure his voice isn't about to break as he says his next words. "You wrote him a role that was worthy of him. And they're gonna love it. We all do." 

He goes quiet, breathes deeply, feels his eyes stinging a bit. He holds it all in and waits patiently while Simon quietly gathers himself too. Then he hears a soft exhale of breath from the phone.

"Fuck me, I feel like I've aged a decade in the last month alone," Simon finally says.

Chris turns back toward his reflection, examines the circles under his eyes, the gray in his beard. Everyone says he looks distinguished. He thinks he looks tired. 

"But we've got each other," he says. "Remember that. If the audience sees us having fun, they'll go with it. We're celebrating, not mourning."

"Yeah," Simon says quietly.

"Hey, I'm here. I'm right here and I'll be right out there with you. Lean on me if you need to, okay? And I'll do the same."

"Thank you."

"Forget it."

"I should go and get my shit sorted."

"Okay. I'll see you soon."

"Yeah… Chris?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Chris smiles, small and bittersweet. "I love you, too."

* * *

Chris is a hugger. And a _good_ hugger, if he does say so himself.

It's _Star Trek_ 's 50th anniversary. This film is a big deal, not because of its stars or its budget, but because of its fans. As Chris stands for pictures with his co-stars, he feels profoundly lucky to be part of what's happening around him. The enthusiasm and loyalty and love of fifty years washes over him as a wave of happy shouts and cheers rises up from the watching crowd. This is about everyone, the entire fandom; those who are here, and those who can't be.

 _Fuck_ , this is awesome.

He swallows a lump that's forming in his throat. He is not about to cry right now, not if he can help it. He's got Karl on his left with a hand on his back, and Simon on his right, tucked securely under his arm. He feels John's warmth on Simon's other side. He glances from side to side, looking up and down the row at the rest of his co-stars. His friends. He loves these people so much, it hurts.

Simon notices him looking and meets his eyes, gives him a smile and a little hip bump. It's more than him just being cute. He's checking up on Chris, and Chris is fine for the most part. Emotional, sure, but still good. He's feeling extra cuddly, though. He leans close to nose at Simon's cheek. He just needs a cuddle, that's all. He's a cuddler by nature.

Simon laughs and angles his cheek upward. Chris takes his hand from Karl and gently takes hold of Simon's chin as he now presses a kiss to that cheek. He holds it for a few seconds, then straightens up again and looks in the same direction as the others for the photographers. He hugs Simon and Karl close.

On the red carpet, he scampers around between his own interviews to give the others some attention too, but he finds his way back to Simon eventually. He sneaks up and bear-hugs Simon from behind, getting a giggle from Simon and a delighted laugh from the reporter. The warmth of Simon's hand presses against the hand Chris has laid on Simon's chest. Simon holds onto his hand rather than patting it. Nice.

Chris holds on possessively, for maybe a touch too long, before pulling himself away and hurrying off.

Where's John? He should go bother John.

 

**After Seoul**

The barking in the background of the phone call makes Simon smile.

"Hi, babies, Daddy misses you," he says when there's a quiet second. As soon as he stops talking, the dogs start barking again.

"That's daddy," says Meredith, Simon's wife, her voice a little distant because the phone isn't near her face. "Say hi! Say hi to daddy!"

More barking and panting and the sound of little doggy nails in need of a trim clicking on the floor.

"I'll be home soon, I promise," he says.

"Right, me again," Meredith says, her Scottish accent now directly in his ear. The dogs' noises fade into the background.

"Are they behaving?"

"Myrtle lies on your office chair everyday, looking profoundly forlorn."

"I'll have to bring back some toys for them."

"They've already got a metric shit-ton of toys, Simon."

"Let me show my love the way I want, okay?"

"Fine, but when they wind up under the sofa with all the others, you're retrieving them."

"Deal. How are you doing?"

"Good!" She goes into a lengthy recounting of her activities since he's been gone, which include her volunteer work, a charity run, her all-women's rugby league's weekly games, various projects around the house, and her book club.

"Oh! I found that spare pair of glasses you lost."

"Oh, good, where were they?"

"Take a wild bloody guess."

"Not in my room."

"Yes, in your room. I was putting laundry away and found them in a drawer underneath your t-shirts. How the hell did they wind up there?"

"Dunno, but Mare, why are you doing my laundry? You know you don't have to."

"You left a big pile of it, and you know how I am. If I'd left it there it would've been all I thought about 'til you got back. It's nothing. I wanted to."

"Well… thank you. I'm sorry, I should've cleaned up before I left."

"Forget it. You've got enough to deal with. How are things on your end?"

"Good. Great. Going smoothly so far. People seem to really like the film."

"Yeah, the reviews are all glowing. Looks like you lot are having fun, judging by the pictures."

"Yeah, it's been really nice seeing them all again."

"You and Chris are behaving, yeah?"

Simon laughs. "What? Why me and him?"

"The two of you get together, and shit goes down."

"It's all him. I get the blame for it because I'm the 'comic actor', but it's mostly him."

"Oh stop, you love causing trouble with him."

"No, I love spending time with him."

"Mm-hm. The two of you have looked rather cozy in the photos I've seen so far."

"We're all sort of cuddly these days. We need each other, you know?"

"Yeah, I know, love," she says, suddenly somber. "But…"

"But?"

"You know, grief is an excellent excuse to get closer to someone. I'm not advocating that, but I'm just saying, it happens."

"What're you on about?"

She sighs. "Nothing."

The word "nothing" from her mouth always puts Simon on edge. His shoulders instantly tense up.

"Come on, don't do that. Don't bring something up and then act as if it's nothing. If it's really nothing, just keep quiet about it."

"My apologies," she says flatly. "You know, it's been nearly half a year."

Simon switches gears now, his anxiety about Meredith's cryptic "nothing" now buried by anxiety about her "half a year" remark.

"Right," he says. "I should probably start looking for a place."

"Is that what you want?"

He takes off his glasses, sets them down on the bed next to him and rubs at his temples. "I dunno. Is it what _you_ want?"

"I asked you first."

"Meredith," he says seriously.

"Simon… I might've met someone…"

Simon lowers his hand from his face and stares at the floor. He repeats her words in his head to make sure he heard them correctly, so still that he can feel his heart beating.

"Oh."

"Nothing's happened yet."

"'Nothing' as in actually nothing, or 'nothing' like the way you meant it earlier?"

She sighs again, and he thinks she's got some nerve doing so.

"Literally nothing," she says.

"But enough that you know he's 'someone'."

"Well… yeah. A bit of flirting, I suppose."

"Is it something you want to pursue?"

"Maybe? I dunno. It's just that it's been nearly half a year-"

"You keep saying that," he points out.

"Listen to me. Neither of us knows yet. You and me, I mean. It's been months and neither of us is sure what we want. You're not sure you want to leave; I'm not sure I want you to. And neither of us is sure if we want to work it out either. What we're doing now doesn't seem to be making things any clearer. We're too comfortable. We're coexisting in this house together, and just stagnating."

She's right, of course. But Simon remains stubbornly upset.

"So, it _is_ something you want to pursue, then."

"Oh, don't be like that."

"Like what?"

"You're sulking and you're putting words in my mouth. What were you expecting to come of this? I'm a person, Simon, I've got feelings, I've got emotional needs, and you and I haven't been there for each other for years now."

"And he has. He's been there for you."

"Nothing has happened. I've been no worse than you."

" _Me_? What've I done?"

"The same bloody thing! The flirting, the escapism, basking in someone else's attention. Only difference is I'm not doin' it in front of millions of people."

"Love," Simon says much more calmly than he feels, "with all due respect, what the ever-loving fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm not blind, Simon. He can't even behave himself when he's around you. He's constantly trying to get your attention like a lovesick teenager, and you happily give it to him every single time, like you can't get enough of him. You can't tell me you haven't noticed. The way he looks at you? It's blatant."

"What the ff… are you talking about Chris?"

"Of course I'm talking about Chris."

_"What?"_

"I'm looking at it right now, online, from yesterday, you and him on stage in front of all those people, making eyes at each other as if no one can see you."

"What, the premiere? Fucking hell, we were just being cute. The audience likes it. Are you just bringing this up to make your thing seem less awful?"

"I'm bringing it up because it's been going on for years and it's about time we addressed it."

"You've got to be fucking joking," Simon sighs, falling back onto the bed and lying there with his feet still on the floor. "What's this about? Me joking about how attractive he is? He _is_ attractive!"

"They're not just jokes. I know what you look like when you're falling in love. I know that look better than anyone. And I've been watching it happen more and more lately."

Simon wants to continue expressing his disbelief but figures that won't be very productive. She's got her mind made up, and repeating things to her has never gotten him very far. So, instead he says, "I'm not attracted to men. You know that. I mean, yes, I find him very attractive, but it's not… it's not…"

"Sexual?"

"Yes, exactly!"

She's quiet for a few seconds before saying, "I think we both need to figure out what we want. That's all I'm saying."

"Meredith, I'm _straight_. I always have been. Literally always."

"You can calm down. I'm not upset."

"Of course not. Why would you be when you've got your little side piece? Who is it? Is it someone I know? If it's someone I know, I'm gonna jump out this hotel window and end it all right now. No, wait. I'm gonna find him first and rip his face off with my bare hands and then come back here and _then_ jump out this hotel window."

"Oh, stop it. And no, it's nobody you know. Look, I don't know what I want to do yet. I just wanted to let you know about him because it's been a couple of months now and the feelings aren't going away and I wanted to be honest with you. Maybe… maybe even scare you a bit. Not maliciously, just to light a fire under your arse."

"Thanks," he says sarcastically.

"We need to work this out. We can't go on like this."

Simon's quiet for a moment, again mentally repeating her words. "It's been a couple of _months_?" he asks in quiet disbelief.

"Yeah," she replies, now sounding uncharacteristically meek. "He's just a symptom, Simon. The problem's been there for years. You know that."

Yes, Simon knows that very well.

 

**Beijing**

Press tours are very strange.

One day you're a regular guy hanging out with your girlfriend, the next you're doing a press junket as if your job is of any real importance, and then you're standing on the Great Wall of China, listening to said girlfriend tell you via long-distance phone call that she needs to "step away" from the relationship for a while; and the next day you're on a Chinese daytime television show, being taught how to make traditional Chinese pastries as if nothing happened.

Backstage, after the segment is over, someone takes Chris's apron from him and hands him a bottled water. As he heads back to the green room, he walks alongside his assistant and listens to her rattle off items on a long list of things he needs to tend to today before he'll be free to do what he wants.

"Chris!" Simon's voice calls him from behind. Chris glances back. Simon's several paces back with his own assistant. He whispers something to her and she hurries on ahead, passing Chris and continuing down the hall.

"Can you give us a minute?" Chris says to his assistant. She goes on ahead too. Simon falls into step with him a second later. "What's up?"

"You all right?" Simon asks in a hushed voice.

"Yeah. Why?"

"You seemed a bit off yesterday. And this morning. You perked up when there was an opportunity to flirt with the host and throw flour around, but other than that…"

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's, uh…" Chris stops walking and they both step to one side of the hall to stay out of everyone's way. "Yeah, uh… Val. She said we should 'take a break'."

Simon's expression softens to one of sympathy. "Ohh. Is that what that call was yesterday?"

"Yeah. Great timing, right?"

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, it's fine. I mean, I can't say that I was in love."

"But you liked her."

"It's fine, honest. Hey, come on, don't look at me like that," Chris says with a small smile.

"Like what?"

"Like a lost dog. It kills me when you look at me like that. God, you're more broken up about this than I am."

Simon smiles back, though faintly. "I'm just concerned."

"Yeah, well, it's not anywhere near the same as you and Meredith. Not even close."

"Doesn't matter, Chris, it still hurts, doesn't it?"

"Eh…" Chris shrugs, looks downward, shuffles his feet.

"Did she give you a reason?"

"Just some stuff about us moving in two different directions or something, I dunno. She probably sensed that my heart wasn't in it. Listen, I don't wanna dwell on this all day. It's our last day in Beijing, not to mention that I've gotta stay focused for the rest of our duties today."

"Yeah, of course. D'you wanna talk later on then?"

"If you wanna hang out later, I'm game, but Simon, it's really not that big a-"

"Chris?" Zach's voice carries down the hall. Chris looks past Simon's head and Simon twists around to see Zach striding briskly toward them, looking concerned.

"We gotta go," Chris says quietly to Simon, reading the look on Zach's face.

"Yeah, we're probably leaving in a minute," Simon says. He looks at Chris again. "Call me later if you want, okay?"

"Just drop by my room before your flight."

Simon agrees to that and then goes on ahead. Chris starts walking too as Zach falls into step next to him. Zach is already talking when he reaches Chris's side, saying something about the interview they're doing together today, just the two of them.

Chris remains distracted. He doesn't feel any particular need to talk about his breakup, but he certainly doesn't mind spending more time with Simon. Maybe Simon needs to talk about his own relationship situation.

"Did you get all that?" Zach asks as they stop a few steps from the green room.

"Hm? Right. No, yeah, I heard you. Erin's on top of it, don't sweat it."

"Are _you_ on top of it?"

Chris sighs. "Can everyone stop being so concerned about me? I know I've been a little out of it lately, but it hasn't been _that_ bad, has it? I will be present and on the ball this afternoon. I promise."

"All right," Zach says uncertainly. He has a little between-the-brows frown line of concern, but he knows how to read Chris, and Chris is making sure to give off some very clear let-it-go vibes. Zach does just that for the time being. "By the way," he says, changing the subject, "Miles has a shoot next week, so we'll have to postpone our visit until the weekend. I have to be in L.A. then anyway. What's your schedule like?"

They make tentative plans to get together when Zach and his partner are in L.A.

Later that evening, after their press duties and sight-seeing are finished, it's back to the hotel to pack. Chris has a flight in a few hours, and so does Simon. When he's finished packing, Simon stops by Chris's room as he said he would.

"I'm telling you I'm fine," is how Chris greets him at the door.

"Humor me, all right?"

He offers Simon a drink and Simon requests a water. Chris opts for a Coke and they sit on the sofa in the suite's living room.

"What exactly does she mean by 'break'?" Simon asks. "Is it actually over or…?"

"Yup. That's her way of saying goodbye without saying goodbye."

"Why wouldn't she just say what she means?"

"Probably because that's how I would've done it – let her down easy. I know, I know, stringing someone along like that is never the better option. Unless it is. You know me; I hate confrontation. I'm one of the ones who doesn't mind when people do it this way, long as everyone's on the same page. And she knew that. She's the same."

"So then why do you seem so melancholy?"

Chris shrugs and draws shapes in the condensation on his Coke bottle. "Endings are sad. Sometimes even when it's for the best. The worst part of all this, though, is knowing that she _knew_. She knew it would be fine for her to go because I wasn't really in that relationship with her. I was going through the motions and she could tell. She quietly gave up. Which I guess is better than some big, dramatic breakup, but… I mean, what's sadder, really? Losing someone you were desperate to be with or having things just sort of dissolve? One's got passion. It feels alive. The other feels faded. Quiet. Like death. It's just giving up."

Simon doesn't reply right away. Chris lets him think. He doesn't mind the silence. He likes just sitting here quietly with his friend.

"I know you're not a quitter by nature," Simon says after a minute. "But sometimes giving up is the best option. No one ever says it, but it's true."

"I know," Chris says, sounding resigned.

"Is that what you feel you're missing? Passion?"

"I guess so. I'm just wondering what the fuck I'm looking for. What's gonna make me happy?"

"You haven't found that with anyone you've dated?"

Chris looks over at Simon, who has crossed one denim-clad leg over the other, angled his body toward Chris and is watching and listening patiently. Chris smiles at him.

"My friends make me happy," he says. "It's been great seeing you guys again."

Simon smiles back. "Same to you."

Chris holds his gaze for a moment, then looks away saying, "Maybe I should be dating _you_."

Simon laughs at that, but it's a stilted, nervous laugh that trails off as if it's a sentence he's too afraid to finish. He's tense now, which is odd because friendly flirting has never been awkward with Simon, at least not in Chris's experience. Chris looks at him again and finds him looking down at his lap and picking at the label on his water bottle.

"What's up?" Chris asks.

Simon glances at him for a second, then immediately away. "Nothing. Just thinking. Maybe you've got a point. Maybe dating isn't what you need. Maybe you should be concentrating more on your non-romantic relationships."

"Could be."

"You don't sound convinced."

"I just feel like I'm missing out on something. I'm not getting any younger."

"If you don't mind my saying, monogamy doesn't really seem to be your thing. I realize that's probably a symptom of having not found The One yet, but it's like you get skittish if things go on too long. I'm not surprised Val could tell. People who aren't even dating you can tell. Maybe monogamy's just not for you."

"Well, that's just fantastic."

"It doesn't have to be bad. You can still have meaningful, fulfilling relationships. You've just gotta find someone who wants the same thing. _If_ that's what you want. Not everybody wants the picket fence and two-point-five children and that's okay."

Chris shakes his head. "I just don't see it. I don't see how that could work."

"Might be tricky. But all relationships are. Even friendships are fraught with pitfalls."

"Not all of them. We have it pretty easy."

"Yeah." Simon goes quiet and his tension comes back.

"Okay, for real, what's up with you?" Chris asks, leaning forward to place his drink on the coffee table. He hasn't even opened it, has simply been playing with it in his lap.

Simon looks toward the ceiling as if he's fed up with something, bites his bottom lip and exhales heavily. "Meredith thinks you and I are in love with each other," he says.

It's such a strange statement, so out of left field, that Chris probably would've laughed even if it hadn't also been the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. He starts to laugh hesitantly but lets it peter out when Simon doesn't join in. Then Chris stops smiling altogether. 

"I'm sorry, what?" he asks.

"That's what she says she sees. Dunno what she's talking about, honestly. I think maybe she was just trying to make what she's done sound not quite as bad as it is."

"What'd she do?"

"Said she's found someone else."

"Whoa, whoa, hold up. She's with another guy? Since when?"

"No, not _with_ , per se. But she likes him a lot and might want to see where it goes. She says we both need to work out what we want. And she's right; it's been months and we're still living together but in separate bedrooms. We're like flatmates. It's stupid."

"Well, it's been, what, fifteen years? That's a long time. Might take more than five months to figure out if you wanna scrap the whole thing and start over elsewhere, don't you think?"

"I suppose. But things haven't been right for longer than five months."

Chris exhales heavily. "Dude."

"I know."

Then Chris frowns, remembering what else Simon has said. "Wait… she thinks we're in love with each other?"

"Yeah."

_"What?"_

"That's what I said."

"That's insane."

"I know, right?"

"She's serious?"

"Deadly."

"Where's she getting that from?"

"Hell if I know."

Chris's mind starts racing, trying to figure out what Meredith's been seeing that's led her to this conclusion. It doesn't take him long to pinpoint a few things. "So, she's completely wrong… right?"

Simon frowns at him. "What's that mean?"

"Well, I mean you're kind of open about how you feel about me."

Simon's frown deepens. "And how is that, Chris?"

"You know. The stuff you say about how if you weren't married and if I was up for it-"

"That's a joke! You're staggeringly gorgeous. That's just my way of dealing with it."

"You had to find a way to 'deal' with how gorgeous I am?"

"That, erm… that didn't come out right. I didn't mean that it was distracting in a sexual way. I meant that…" Simon pauses, rolls his eyes at himself. "Maybe I was a bit jealous at one point."

"Simon-" Chris says, all ready to defend Simon's honor against Simon's own words.

"I'm not anymore. This was back when we'd just met. We've all got insecurities that occasionally crop up for one reason or another. But I know you now and I haven't felt that way for a long time."

"So, it hasn't ever been sexual or romantic for you?"

" _No_ , Chris," Simon replies, sounding exasperated and looking down at his water bottle as he repeatedly loosens and tightens its cap. Chris notes the aversion of Simon's eyes, the fidgeting. These are not automatically signs of untruthfulness, but…

"Then why are you so awkward all of a sudden?" he asks.

Simon looks up at him in what appears to be mild surprise. He searches Chris's face, probably for signs that Chris is just teasing him.

"Is that a serious question?" he asks.

"You can barely look at me."

"I love you as a friend. And of course I think you're attractive. I'm not blind, for fuck's sake."

"So, you're not in love with me?"

"No!"

"All right, then."

"Are you?" Simon demands, spitting it at Chris defensively. "Because it ain't just me Meredith was accusing."

"Pfft, _no_ , of course not."

"Okay."

"Fine."

"Good."

They sit in silence for about thirty seconds, pointedly not looking at each other. 

"Shit got real weird in here, didn't it?" Chris finally says.

"Well, it shouldn't have," Simon instantly replies, sounding annoyed. "We're being ridiculous."

"Simon. Your _wife_ , a very nice woman that I have had meals with on several occasions, thinks I'm in love with her husband. How does that not get weird?"

"But you're not in love with me. There's no reason to feel awkward about it. 'It' isn't even a thing."

"How am I ever supposed to look her in the eye again?"

"God. I'm sorry I brought it up."

"No, no, I'm glad you told me. Jesus, can you imagine me going over there to visit you guys and just waltzing in like everything's cool?" Chris winces at the thought.

"Yeeeah, that's the thing… I think she's all right with it."

"Because she's interested in some other guy."

"Yeah, that. But also, you know, you're a man. If you were a woman, I think it would bother her more. I don't know why that makes it different. If she were in love with a woman, I don't know what I'd think. I suppose I'd still be hurt and upset about it, but somehow not quite as jealous. Sort of like a man would be more competition for me because I'm a man too. How fucked up is that?"

Chris turns that over in his mind, staring off at nothing. "So, if we wanted to… she'd be cool with it?"

Simon looks at Chris and examines him quietly again. Chris glances hesitantly at him, at which point they both quickly look away.

"Maybe," Simon says. "She says 'it' has been going on for years."

"What has?"

"Whatever the hell she thinks is happening between you and me."

Chris scrunches up his face in frustration. "What exactly does she think she's been seeing? Flirting? That stuff's not serious. That's just friend stuff."

"There's also the eye sex."

" _Eye_ sex, Jesus-"

"I tried to tell her she sounded mad. Although I guess I talk about you a lot. Yeah, sure, if I was into guys, you'd be my first choice. So what? She talks about Beyonce all the bloody time. You don't see me accusing her of having a lady boner for her."

"Simon, this is so fucked up," Chris says, leaning forward, elbows onto his knees and face into his hands. He sits there for a moment, trying to process the conversation he's having, when something horrifying dawns on him. "Simon?" he says into his hands, his voice muffled. "Did I… I didn't cause your marital issues, did I?"

There are a couple of beats – the most intense silence Chris has ever experienced – and then Simon quietly says, "Chris. _No_."

Chris lowers his hands and looks back at Simon, who is looking at him. Frowning at him, really, but it's a concerned frown. He leans forward and puts his water on the coffee table, then shifts over a bit to get closer to Chris and lays a hand on his forearm. "No," he repeats softly. "Of course not."

Chris exhales through his nose, his whole body relaxing. He's quiet for a moment. He should be completely relieved at Simon's answer, but he didn't really expect Simon to say anything else; Simon would never admit it if he had feelings for Chris that had driven a wedge between him and Meredith. He'd never put that on Chris's shoulders, whether it was true or not. Chris decides to accept the answer for now.

"She's misinterpreting our closeness, that's all," Simon says. "We've got kind of a special thing, you and me."

"Yeah. I do kinda like it when you talk about me, I gotta be honest."

Simon cautiously grins. "What?"

"When you talk about how you think it would be so worth it if we… you know."

Simon laughs now, all his tension melting away. His eyes are twinkly and happy, which is a huge relief. "Well, it would be. If you're gonna dabble on the other side of the fence, go big or go home… that wasn't a remark about your penis."

Chris is about to start blushing. He can feel it. He hates it, but whatever. Simon probably thinks it's cute. And Chris… likes it when Simon thinks he's cute. Huh.

But everybody likes to be thought of as attractive. No big deal.

He glances away shyly for a moment, then looks at Simon again, examining his face. He suddenly realizes that Simon's hand is still on his arm. It's warm and soft and the thumb is gently petting him. He doesn't dare look down at it, afraid that acknowledging it will make it go away. The touch is nice. Maybe he should reciprocate, but he's not sure anymore. It was all so simple before – a mere five minutes ago, in fact. But now? When they're alone and have just had the world's most awkward conversation? Nope.

Chris suddenly wants a hug, but he doesn't feel this is the time to ask for one. So instead he says, "You'd be worth it too."

Simon gives him a little smile and then lowers his eyes. His thumb continues its petting. "Well, thank you," he says. His hand lingers on Chris's arm for a moment longer before he lets go and sits back in his seat again. His body begins leaning back before his hand releases, as if it doesn't want to go any more than Chris wants it to. Or maybe that's just Chris's imagination. We see what we want, he thinks.

Then he remembers what they've been talking about, remembers that Simon's wife has apparently been seeing it too, and certainly it isn't something that she's been wanting. He'd never even considered that his playfulness might look like anything other than what it was.

 _Maybe it doesn't,_ says an annoying little voice in his head. _Maybe it looks like exactly what it is._

But… no, that's dumb.

"Are you all right?" Simon asks.

Chris, still leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, looks back at him. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Chris, listen, don't worry about any of this, okay? Meredith's conscience is just creating an issue between you and me to appease her own guilt. It's got nothing to do with you, not really."

"Right. No, yeah, I know. That makes sense."

"I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, I'm glad you told me. We should both be aware of how we're coming off, you know?"

"Yeah, I suppose. So, things aren't super weird between us now, then?"

"No weirder than usual," Chris replies. He offers a reassuring smile because Simon seems so uncertain now and that just breaks Chris's heart. He wants to do more than smile; he wants to give Simon a hug, he wants to touch him, but he's hesitant to do those things now, even though no one's watching.

But his little joke makes Simon chuckle, and when the laughter subsides, Simon sits there gazing at him for a moment with a soft, adoring look on his face. This isn't the first time Simon's looked at him like that. It always makes Chris feel all warm and happy inside.

"Good," Simon says. "So, I'm still your date for GQ?"

"Shit, the awards show. I nearly forgot. Yeah, of course. Who else would I take?"

This too makes Simon smile warmly at Chris. He then slides forward again and extends his arms for a hug, which Chris happily accepts.

"I've gotta go," Simon murmurs in his ear. "Gonna miss my flight."

Chris squeezes him and can't stop himself from emitting a needy little whining noise against Simon's shoulder.

Simon squeezes him back. "I know you're feeling a bit lost right now. That's normal after a breakup, even if you knew the relationship was doomed. And it's normal for someone your age too. No one has everything worked out in their mid-thirties."

"Mmmmph," Chris whines again.

Simon rubs his back. "You'll figure it out. I can help. Anytime you wanna talk, call me. All right?"

"Thanks… I love you."

Simon kisses his ear, and Chris is so relieved that affection like this is still okay between them. "I love you, too," Simon says.

Chris hates this part. When they all – himself, Simon and the others – disband and go back to their separate lives. He has his own life, his own friends, his own responsibilities. He has plenty to occupy himself, and people who love him. He just hates having people torn out of his life, even if it's temporary.

Well, at least the awkwardness about touching has been resolved. He should have known that Simon wouldn't let that go on for long. He returns Simon's kiss by pressing one gently to Simon's neck, then he forces himself to pull away, though his and Simon's hands stay resting lightly on each other's arms. Fuck, why is he so fucking sad? He's going to see Simon again, next month in fact. And it's not like he's going to be alone or bored for the next few weeks. What's his problem?

Something about Val breaking it off seems to have dislodged something in him. She'd been a pretty good distraction. But now she's gone, and as much as it's the best choice for both himself and her, he still feels bruised. Letting go of something that wasn't really beneficial should leave one feeling lighter, shouldn't it?

 _"Empty" is a kind of lighter,_ says the annoying voice. Chris mentally tells it to shut up.

Simon's gotta go, so Chris gives him the beginnings of a brave smile to show him that everything's fine, but he falters before it even registers on his face.

"Hey," Simon says, instantly cupping Chris's face with both his hands. "I'll call you as soon as I get home. I'll be landing before you do, so I'll call and leave you a message if you can't pick up."

Chris nods and forces himself to meet Simon's eyes. Simon looks so concerned, it's heartbreaking. Chris hates that he's making his friend look like that. "Okay," he says in a small voice.

"Good… okay."

Simon hesitates, like he doesn't want to let go again, which is understandable since Chris is clearly breaking down a little here. Chris is kind of embarrassed, but he doesn't mind being comforted. Simon's thumbs caress his cheeks, then one hand slides further back to massage his neck, and all the while Simon watches him with those big, concerned eyes. Chris shuts his eyes and lets it happen. It feels so good. Why do they have to leave now?

Then something happens that both shocks Chris and somehow doesn't surprise him at all. Simon leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth feels completely right, but who would think it would actually happen? It only lasts a second; the most innocent little peck on the lips. It isn't so strange, really. They're both affectionate guys. They've both kissed their male friends before, just like this.

But also not quite like this. This is different. It's quiet and intimate. It's full of emotions just bubbling beneath the surface. Chris knows Simon feels it too. It's like there's a barrier between them, the thinnest film keeping things just barely at bay, like surface tension on water. It feels like anything could pop that barrier at any moment. This is not like it has been with Chris's other friends. This feels dangerous and exciting. This is not platonic.

They sit there for a moment afterward, not quite looking at each other but still holding onto each other. Chris can hear each of them breathing in the vacuum-like silence.

"I'll call you soon," Simon promises again. He then gets up, presses another kiss to the top of Chris's head, lets his hand linger in Chris's hair for a moment, then pulls away and goes for the door. He doesn't say goodbye. Chris doesn't watch him go.

Chris's brain feels sluggish and doesn't manage to turn his face toward the door until the door is closing behind Simon. Instead he stares, for too long, at the place next to him where Simon was sitting and looks over just in time to see the door settle into its frame with a soft click.

The sound is a little bit of reality seeping in through the fog in Chris's brain, like an alarm clock's beep integrating itself into a dream before it pulls you fully from unconsciousness. He blinks at the door as he rises out of his haze. He's awake. And that really just happened.

"What the actual fuck?" he mutters to himself.

End of Chapter 1

[Tumblr](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com) • [Twitter](http://twitter.com/maxwrite)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at home, Simon tries to reconcile his feelings for Chris with how he sees himself, and gets a little help from a surprising source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, hi. :)
> 
> Sorry this chapter is showing up so late. Let's just ignore that.
> 
> So, this is a Simon-centric chapter. I was going to post the Chris-centric chapter first, but then I realized that that wouldn't make any sense without changing a few things around and I didn't want to do that because laziness. Anyway, hope you enjoy it. There are some interesting discussions I really enjoyed writing. ♥

Back at home for the next couple of weeks, Simon still has work to do, on a project whose current location is conveniently about an hour from his home. Meredith is still busy with her own life. It's been three days since Simon got back and they've barely spoken.

He's doing night shoots this week, so he gets home just as the birds are waking. On the morning of his third day home, he comes back from work to a lone light on in the house when it would normally be completely dark.

He shuts and locks the front door behind him and is about to duck into the small room to the left of the foyer that serves as his office, when something stops him. Maybe it's the four cups of coffee he's had in the last few hours, but for some reason he's in the mood to chat.

He goes for the big, sliding barn door opposite the front door. Meredith's idea. She said she liked how it gave a homey, country feel to the place while also looking like it belonged in a trendy loft. Simon could personally do without it, especially right now; it's loud when opened normally, and slow as fuck if one takes their time.

He gently nudges the door to the right, revealing what should be a dark hallway with the kitchen entrance halfway down to the left, and dining room entrance to the right. The end of the hall opens up to a large living room space lined with windows that overlook the backyard, and the only light should be coming from there; dim moonlight seeping in through closed blinds. But that isn't the only light. The kitchen light is on.

Meredith's awake.

He stays there, peering into the hall, for a few seconds, wondering what to do. Should he go say hi or let her be? Just because she's up, doesn't mean she wants to talk. Is she sitting there, still and quiet, waiting for him to slink away to his room? She must've heard the front door open; the house is completely quiet. The dogs must be dead asleep.

Christ, this is stupid, he thinks. A decade and a half together and this is what things have come to; him sneaking around in his own house like a teenager coming home after curfew. He pushes the barn door open like a normal person, not worrying about the rumble it makes as it slides along its brackets. He goes toward the kitchen, slows a bit as he draws near and peaks inside.

She's in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, wild red hair just barely tamed in a messy bun atop her head. She's sipping something hot and reading a thick paperback at the small round table by the window, curled up on the cushioned bench that forms the corner window seat. She notices him when he steps fully into the room and gives him a faint smile.

"Morning," she says. She doesn't sound like she's been to sleep yet. "Thought you were here already."

"No, they kept me a bit longer than usual." He goes over, pulls out a chair and sits opposite her at the table. "You're up late. Or early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"How was your day?"

"Good. Fran says hullo, by the way."

"Shit, I've gotta go round to see her and the boys."

"Yes, you do. They live right across the street. You don't think they've noticed you've been back for three days?"

Simon has to stop himself from reminding her that she's barely noticed his presence and she lives with him. He has to stop because he knows he's been avoiding her on purpose, so she's probably been doing the same. Also, comments like that are never helpful and only feel good for a split second.

"I'll get to it, I promise," he assures her. "It's not as if our schedules line up very well, is it?"

"Little Matty has a new snake he wants you to meet."

"Oh, fantastic. Has he ever heard of goldfish?"

"Heh," she chuckles. "He named it after you."

Simon smiles at that. "Well, that's lovely. I think. Dunno if I should be insulted or not." He pauses and watches her for a moment. She's gone back to reading her well-worn novel. "They don't know about us, do they?"

"'Bout what?"

"About _us_."

"The kids? No, how would they know?"

"Just wondering. What about Fran?"

She doesn't reply, instead sips from her mug and keeps reading.

"Mare?"

She sighs and keeps her eyes on her book as she turns a page. "It's hard to keep these things hidden from those you're close to, you know."

Simon's stomach drops. "You told her?"

"Had to."

"Why?"

She lowers her book to the table and gives him an exasperated look. "She knows me better than almost anyone. You know that. I couldn't very well keep it from her forever. She kept asking and asking if everything was all right. Finally had to come clean, didn't I? Lying to her was becoming ridiculous."

Simon sits back in his seat and wonders exactly what Meredith's friend knows and what she thinks of him now. Not that there's any real reason for her to think less of him, but people like to take sides, and surely she'll side with Meredith.

"She's the only one," she assures him, lowering her eyes to her book again. "You're telling me you've told no one?"

"Nick knows," Simon admits.

"Of course he does."

"What does _that_ mean?" he demands, scrunching up his face in annoyance.

"Nothing," she says in a slightly winded-sounding way that says she's already exhausted just talking to him. "You tell him everything, that's all. Calm down."

Simon tries to relax a bit. He'd instantly reacted to her tone and regrets it now. He slumps down in his seat, wondering if he should just go to bed. Then he remembers what happened before he left Beijing and knows that he can't go another day without coming clean. After this conversation, he can no longer use the excuse that he never got the chance to talk to her.

"How's what's-his-face?" he asks sullenly.

"His name is Bob."

Simon grumbles unintelligibly.

"He's fine. I suppose. Haven't spoken to him in a few days. He's got a life too, after all."

"No new developments, then?"

"No. What were you expecting, an engagement announcement?"

Simon merely grumbles more.

"What about you and Chris?"

He instantly wants to insist that it's not the same thing, but he knows he can't, not now. Chris was the reason he'd even brought up Bob; as a way to broach the subject of their respective infidelities, if they can even call them that. "I, er, wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, erm …" He picks at a hangnail on his thumb, casts furtive glances at her as he speaks. "I always said I'd be honest with you. Pretty sure that was in our vows, actually."

Now she looks up at him again as she puts her book down on the table, still open, front and back covers facing upward. She sits up straight, one of her knees dropping out of view as that foot goes down to the floor. She looks half worried and half angry as she says, "Al-bloody-ready?"

"What?"

"Barely a week ago you insisted you didn't know what the hell I was even on about and now you're telling that you and he've already gone and … what? What've you done, then? Go on, tell me."

Suddenly Simon feels completely justified in his earlier reaction to her tone. "I _kissed_ him, is all," he says sternly, looking her fiercely in the eye. "Wasn't even a real kiss. It was barely a peck." He looks away from her. "Is that what you think of me?"

She's quiet for a moment, then says, "Sorry. I just thought –"

"What? You thought what? Say it."

She clears her throat. "I thought maybe you'd be angry enough at me to want to get back at me. Because of Bob."

"So I ask you again, is that what you think of me?"

"Now, hang on just a minute. You went from complete denial to making out in a matter of days."

"We didn't _make out_. It lasted a second. I wasn't getting back at you. Not everything is about you."

"All right, fine. So, why'd you do it, then? Because call me crazy, but I doubt this would've happened before I flipped that switch in your brain."

"What switch?" he asks, annoyed.

"You didn't even know, Simon. You're so out of touch with your own feelings that you had no idea. You couldn't see what was right in front of you because it contradicted everything you believed you were supposed to be. You wouldn't have kissed him before, not in a way that would've required a confession. But now that someone else has said it out loud, now you _know_. Now you can't not know. That's the switch that's been flipped. Can't unflip it now, can you?"

"That's bullshit."

"Is it? Because if it wasn't true, there'd be no switch to flip. I would've said what I said and it wouldn't have made any difference. But it did make a difference. And here you are, coming clean about kissing him like you cheated or something."

He hates that she's making so much sense, so he doesn't say anything. He just sits there feeling slightly stunned and trying to keep it off his face. If there'd been no switch to flip, her words wouldn't have changed anything. But they had.

"Oh, my god," she says quietly. "I was right. I mean, I knew that, but I didn't _know_ that."

"Queen's English, love," he mumbles.

"I guess I didn't think anything would happen. At least not so soon. We _just_ had that conversation. Bloody hell, _somebody_ works quick. It's like he's just been _dying_ to get into your pants."

He glares at her. "He didn't get into my … I kissed _him_! Don't accuse him of anything. I'm the one who dragged him into this mess by telling him what you said. Do you have any idea how mortified he is? He was upset. All right? His girlfriend just broke up with him and he's lonely and I just …"

_Just what, Simon?_ he thinks to himself after his sentence trails off. _What exactly were you trying to do?_

"You just what?" she asks.

"I just wanted to comfort him," Simon admits a little more calmly. "He was so lost. You don't know, you didn't see …" He stops himself, goes quiet and looks away from her. He shouldn't be trying to justify what he did. There's no excuse. If Chris was some woman, he wouldn't be trying to make her understand. He'd never get the chance because she'd never put up with that. "I'm sorry," he says instead. "I shouldn't have done it. It just – _shit_. Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Not you. Me. I keep wanting to explain it, justify it, but it doesn't matter. It was stupid. And as much as I insist it was for him, it was purely selfish. I'm sorry."

She slowly shakes her head at him. "You really, honestly didn't know?"

He sighs. " _Yes_ , Mare, I'm thick as a brick fucking wall, I get it."

"No, listen. How could you not know? You're in your forties."

He stares at her for a moment, examining her face, the incredulous look she's giving him. He goes over everything she's said, and her words echo in his mind: _"… it contradicted everything you believed you were supposed to be …"_

"Exactly what do you think I am?" he asks quietly.

"What?"

"If I'm not what I thought I was, then what am I?"

She hesitates. "That's not for me to decide."

"I'm not asking you to decide. I'm asking what you think. You must have your own ideas about it, since apparently you've been living with it for so long."

She rolls her eyes. "God, Simon, do I really have to say it?"

"I'd like it if you did. Please?"

She hesitates again, then shrugs and admits, "I think you're probably bisexual."

Which he knew, of course. What else could she possibly think? He looks away.

"Well, what would you call it?" she asks.

"Since when do you feel that way?" he asks, ignoring her question.

"Since always," she says simply.

He looks at her again in shock.

"At first I did. When we first met. Then I got to know you a bit more and decided you weren't. But then I got to know you even better and I started to wonder again. Don't misunderstand; I've never been threatened by it. That would just be bloody stupid, and besides you've never given me any reason to be concerned. Even your little crush on Chris wasn't a bother when it first started. But yeah, I mean, you've always seemed sort of … not quite straight to me."

"And you're just telling me this now?"

"Well, I did ask you before. A long, long time ago. Remember? You said you were straight, so I let it go. Wasn't a big deal, anyway. And if you weren't ready to … I mean, if you knew that you were straight, who was I to question it?"

He says nothing, just stares at her, suddenly feeling more like he's looking at a stranger than he ever has, even when things got bad enough for him to move out of their bedroom. He's angry. He feels somehow betrayed that the person he loves most in the world has apparently been calling him a liar in her mind all this time. And she'd just accepted it. As if that's what she'd expected of him.

No, wait, not a liar. An idiot. A typical man, out of touch with his feelings. A lie requires awareness, and he'd had no clue. He's not sure which is worse.

"What were you expecting me to say?" she asks. "I can see how you feel about him. How could I sit here and say that you're straight when I know you can't be?"

"But you thought that before I'd even met him."

"I _wondered_. I didn't know for sure … so, did you like it?"

"Like what?"

"The kiss. Was it nice? Did you enjoy it?"

Simon's annoyed by the question at first, but it forces him to think about the kiss, _really_ think about it. He's been trying not to since it happened. He feels guilty about it, like he'd crossed a line with Chris without Chris's permission, not to mention that it had felt adulterous as hell. But now he has to think about it. His brain won't let him look away this time. He's kissed his male friends before and it's never registered to him as anything but an affectionate gesture. Hell, he's kissed Nick more passionately than he kissed Chris.

But that's not entirely true. About the passion. Passion isn't about how firmly your lips press or for how long, or what volume of fluid is exchanged. It's emotion. It's wanting something so badly that you're afraid to let yourself have it, because what if you can't ever let it go? Or what if once you do let it go, you can't ever have it back? It's being maddeningly gentle with it because if you hold it as tightly as you want to, the weight of your desire might crush it. Or scare it. Or scare you. Or all of the above.

He's been telling himself that he'd barely kissed Chris at all and that that was somehow proof that his feelings were strictly platonic. But no. It was proof that they weren't.

"That good, eh?" she asks flatly.

"What?" he looks up at her, remembering that she's sitting there with him. She's watching him with a sage expression that annoys him.

"You haven't spoken for nearly a minute," she informs him.

His mouth moves soundlessly at her for a moment. "It was just a peck on the lips," he says quietly, feeling helpless.

"You can say it," she says. She neither sounds, nor looks upset anymore. She seems sort of concerned, actually. "You can say that you liked it. It's best that you be honest. Please, Simon, I'm not angry."

"Don't you think you should be?"

"Yes. But it's not like you're the only one who's been having an emotional affair."

"But you haven't even kissed what's-his-face yet."

"Bob."

"Whatever."

"No, I haven't. But I'm not innocent. I've flirted. I've encouraged his interest. I enjoyed the attention."

He looks away again. He's been trying desperately to not think too hard about her and this other guy. He's been shoving his feelings down and ignoring them, all of them, burying himself in work. But he can't do that anymore. His wife is actively seeking the attention of some other man. His face grows hot. His heart hurts. He's angry at her and what's-his-face and himself. But mostly at what's-his-face.

But how can he blame her? He'd had no idea what he'd been doing with Chris until she'd pointed it out, but ignorance is no excuse. He's been blatantly flirting, actively seeking Chris's attention, and even worse, the lengthy hugs and little touches, taking every opportunity to be close to him, saying in front of hundreds, thousands of people, live audiences, cameras, the internet, how much he'd love to have _that_ just once, in another life, under different circumstances, if he was a different person. He's been obvious. He's been so open about it, it's shocking. And she'd seen all of it, had stood by and watched it happened, listened to him happily talk about it like it was nothing. He'd honestly thought that it was.

"I'm not bisexual," he suddenly says.

"All right."

"I'm serious. I don't like men. I like … I like him. Oh, my god." Merely saying the words makes his entire being feel weighed down.

"So, there's never been anyone else?" she asks. "No other guys that did for you what he does?"

"I don't think so. I mean, if it's literally just the one, then that's nothing, right?"

"It's not nothing, love," she says, suddenly sounding very tired. "Maybe there are varying degrees of straight and gay, yeah?"

He looks at her, intrigued.

"Everyone thinks that there's gay, there's straight, and then there's a whole messy gray area in between that it seems no one knows how to deal with. But maybe the extremes aren't quite as extreme as we all think. Maybe you're straight, but with a few exceptions."

"So, _not_ straight, basically."

"I don't know what you'd call it. If it's not bi, then I don't know what. Are you still comfortable saying that you're straight, knowing what you know now?"

He hesitates. "I dunno," he says honestly.

"What about bi-curious?"

He instantly shakes his head. "I'm not curious. It's just him."

"So, what's that leave? There's gotta be a gray area within the extremes. You can't be the only one."

"You're trying to help," he says quietly. "Why?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because your husband isn't what you thought …" But he trails off there and feels the color drain from his face as he remembers that this is exactly what she always thought he was. She's not surprised or hurt. If she'd ever felt those things, she's long since gotten over them. She isn't handling this so well because of her own emotional infidelity. She's handling it so well because she'd seen it coming a mile off.

"You came to terms with this a long time ago," he says.

"Yeah," she says casually. "And you've finally caught up. Welcome, by the way. We've gotta deal with it now, don't we?"

"How? I mean, shouldn't we just ignore it? We're married. I'm taken. It shouldn't matter."

"It does matter. And I'm not saying you should sleep with him for pity's sake. I'm just saying that now that you know, you can't ignore it. You should – I dunno – explore it. Read about it, learn about yourself. Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know more about this? It's not what you thought it was. This is new to you." She shakes her head. "I still can't believe you didn't know."

"Come on, don't you feel the same thing sometimes? Don't you have that one woman that could turn you, if just for one night?"

She laughs, actually _laughs_ , and looks at him almost sympathetically. "Love. No. I don't."

"Really?" he asks in utter disbelief.

"There are plenty of women I love to look at. There are even a few that I just love being near because they're wonderful and beautiful and sweet and smell nice. But sex?" She shakes her head at him. "No."

He turns that over in his mind, realizes for the first time that there are probably more people than he'd thought who feel the way she does. They're not interested. They are the extremes on the scale. And he's not quite one of them.

"Oh, my god," he repeats.

"Maybe some research to start, yeah?" she offers hopefully. He thinks he's probably worrying her again. He can feel the quiet shock all over his face, so he knows she must be able to see it. "There's gotta be a ton of resources online. Tell you what." She sits up in her seat. "I'll start looking tomorrow afternoon, after I'm through with my book run. I'll find some things to get you started."

Her book run; volunteer work. She helps deliver library books to the elderly and disabled in the community.

"I've got a lot of downtime on set," Simon says, somewhat absently. "I can look."

"We can both look. Four eyes are better than two."

He has to smile. "You always did love a project."

She smiles brightly back at him. "That's the spirit! This is gonna be so good for us. Just get all this out in the open, work it out, give it a name. Or several. It'll bring us closer together. We've been so disinterested in each other." She falters a little, her brightness dimming again, a sadness creeping into her eyes.

"Yeah," he agrees. "No, you're right. This is good. We're communicating. We're working together." He nods reassuringly at her and repeats, "This is good. It's a start, at least."

Her smile comes back, a little less bright but more heartfelt. She leans in, reaches across the table for his hand. This surprises him, but pleasantly. He reaches for her too. She grips his hand and says, "I'm glad you came in to say hi tonight."

"I'm glad you were still up."

"Almost always am. I listen for you."

"You do so much during the day. You can't be staying up this late for me."

"You know me, I'm a bloody hummingbird. Five hours of sleep and a drop of coffee and I'm good to go. Besides, someone's gotta look out for you."

Well, this is interesting. Somehow Simon's minor infidelity has bonded them in a way. He feels a closeness with her in this moment that he hasn't felt in forever. He doesn't want to let it go, but he knows he has to. This isn't going to go _there_. They aren't going to kiss and make up and end up cuddling tonight. He holds her gaze and her hand as long as he can, then looks down when it feels like it might be going on too long. They're closer, but still not close. There's still a palpable distance between them.

She squeezes and pats his hand in a friendly sort of way and lets it go. "If you're hungry, there are leftovers in the fridge. Have as much as you like," she says as she picks up her book and her mug. She walks away but stops in the doorway and looks back at him. "You gonna be in here a while?"

"Hm? No. No, I'm going now too."

He stands and follows her out as she shuts off the lights and exits. She goes across the hall to the dining room and on through to the large front room to the right of the foyer that they call Living Room the 1st. (the one in back being the 2nd). The stairs to the upper floor are there. He follows her as far as the dining room and goes to its third entryway which leads to another hallway. His room is down this way.

He stops in the entryway and glances back at her. He can't make out her features in the dark, but he can see her silhouette standing on the lower steps, one foot on a higher step then the other. She raises a hand to wave goodnight to him as she goes up. He waves back, and smiles too, though he's sure she can't see the smile. He wonders if she smiled at him too.

* * *

Before Simon has the chance to even think about doing any kind of research on his own, Meredith e-mails him links to several articles. He's on set late that evening when they arrive. He sends her a text in response: 

> _"Christ, woman, I haven't even had time to procrastinate doing my own research yet."_

Her response is a lone emoji sticking its tongue out at him.

He waits until early the next morning to look at them, when he's back at home and alone in his office. Meredith is asleep when he arrives, or at least upstairs in the bedroom, which is fine with him; she'll only ask what he thought of the articles and he'll have nothing to tell her.

He considers that maybe there's a reason he'd postponed reading the articles. Maybe he just isn't ready to face whatever they have to say.

Which is stupid. If he were bisexual, why would he have a problem with that? He wouldn't. The label just doesn't feel right to him.

At his desk he switches on his desk lamp and his computer. He procrastinates a bit by replying to other e-mails that he'd also been avoiding dealing with, and then finally opens Meredith's e-mail. He's already read what she's written, so he skips right to the first link she's provided. He skims over the first couple of paragraphs of the article until he gets to the interesting part.

> _"The truth is that many men who have sex with men aren’t gay or even bisexual. Although their mental and emotional state resembles that of the initial stages of coming out, gay and bisexual men go on to develop a gay or bisexual identity, whereas these men don’t._
> 
> _"When I write about straight men who are attracted to or having sex with other men, I receive numerous negative responses, mostly from gay men who have lived in the closet, convincing themselves that they were straight, and may have even had relationships or marriages with women. 'You are keeping these men closeted and harming them!' they shout at me. But what these gay men don’t realize is that I am not talking about men like them. These gay men were suppressing an identity: a sexual and romantic identity of being gay. These are not the men I am addressing here."_

It goes on to list possible reasons why a straight man might find himself interested in sex with other men.

_"Acting out early-childhood sexual abuse"_

Nope.

_"Sex work or escorting"_

Of course not.

> _"First sexual experience: Sometimes heterosexual males experiment with other males sexually, usually in adolescence and/or young adulthood (up to age 25), for the experience or to satisfy curiosity."_

That doesn't feel right, either. Simon recalls a lengthy kiss he'd shared with another boy his age when he was all of six years old, but he doesn't think that was so important an event in his life that he'd be trying to relive it now.

_"Availability/opportunity"_

Nah.

_"Father hunger"_

Simon scrunches up his face and recoils from the screen a bit. That definitely can't be it. Yes, his parents separated when he was very young, and his relationship with his stepfather wasn't perfect, but … no. Nope. Moving on.

_"Sexual orientation toward men but emotional/romantic orientation toward women"_

Interesting, but no. He's pretty sure Chris is the first man he's ever had genuine sexual interest in.

> _"Narcissism: These are straight men who are self-absorbed and have a constant need for attention and acceptance; they use sexuality with men to be worshiped and adored."_

He admits he loves Chris's attention. Who wouldn't? And maybe acceptance and validation are a bit at play here too, but there are also actual feelings involved. There must be something else to it.

_"Sexual addiction"_

Nuh-uh.

> _"Cuckolding: These straight men enjoy fantasies of – or the reality of – their female partners having sex with other men, either in front of them, nearby or with their knowledge about when and where it occurs. Sometimes they engage in sexual behavior with the man, but only in the presence of the female partner."_

Obviously no.

The last two on the list are "exhibitionism" and "sexual release in prison". Okay, then.

> _"This is by no means an exhaustive list of reasons …"_

No shit. Simon stops reading there and goes onto the next article.

This one starts off by stating that more and more straight men are admitting to watching gay porn. Simon's seen male/male porn, sure, but it hasn't ever been something he's reached for, for his own personal entertainment. He continues reading and soon gets to the point of the article: hormones. Simon thinks he probably could've figured that out himself, but he keeps reading anyway.

> _"Progesterone is a hormone that appears in both males and females and contributes to the formation of social bonds. Researchers found that when hetero guys are reminded of the importance of forging male friendships, they report an increased willingness to engage in sexual behavior with other guys._
> 
> _"Researchers concluded that gay thoughts go hand in hand with the need to create alliances with members of the same sex, which can be traced all the way back to the teamwork mentalities of the earliest hunter-gatherers."_

Interesting. Simon supposes that makes sense. He's closer to Chris than to anyone else in the Trek cast. Of all of them, Chris is the one that Simon spent the most time with during the first movie shoot. They had several scenes together and spent days filming, just the two of them and the crew. He tries to recall what he'd felt toward Chris in those early days. He'd always thought Chris was attractive, of course. And they'd instantly gotten along well together. Becoming friends with Chris had been easy. Chris had been pretty young at the time and very cute and charismatic in a puppy-ish sort of way. He was a natural charmer and he probably did it without even thinking. He'd been funny and silly and had seemed to take pride in making Simon laugh, which he'd done a lot.

His tactics for getting into Simon's good graces were similar to how Simon himself operated. He and Chris had, for lack of a better word, seduced each other in much the same way. Had Simon been flirting back then, with his jokes and smiles and easy laughter, with his indulgences of Chris's cute antics? He doesn't think so, though he supposes flirting isn't always a conscious thing. He can recall being drawn to Chris instantly, liking being near him, liking just looking at him, looking forward to seeing him everyday. But that was all platonic, wasn't it? Simon "fell in love" with men all the time, but it was never sexual.

Perhaps the other, more intimate feelings for Chris had come later. Simon isn't sure of that either. Though he'd become aware of those feelings at some point, long before his conversation with Meredith, he hadn't taken them seriously. That was probably why he hadn't noticed it when it started; as far as he'd been concerned they weren't supposed to mean anything, and they must not have been strong enough to read as anything beyond strong platonic love and an aesthetic attraction.

He goes on reading a quote from the doctor whose report the article references:

> _"'From an evolutionary perspective we tend to think of sexual behavior as a means to an end for reproduction. However, because sexual behavior is intimate and pleasurable, it is also used in many species, including non-human primates, to help form and maintain social bonds. Having some degree of attraction to the opposite sex is a type of adaptive behavior. The research suggests that having exclusively heterosexual thoughts is a disadvantage.'"_

It makes sense. Is that really what he's dealing with now? What else could it possibly be?

Then he wonders what difference it makes. What does it matter why he feels the way he feels? Knowing the definitive answer, if there even is one, won't change anything. Would he want things to change? If he could wave a wand and not have these feelings for Chris anymore, would he? It would certainly make things less complicated, which is always nice.

But the feelings, however confusing, are nice too. That intimate bond when they're together is nice. Kissing him, even just briefly, had been really nice.

Fuck.

He continues reading the other three articles, but they're mostly just about straight men's porn-watching habits and their increasing willingness to be honest about it. Simon wonders if Meredith is trying to coax him into admitting that he's been watching male/male porn. If he had been, he thinks he'd tell her. Well, he'd tell her _now_. Before all this began, maybe not.

He sits back in his chair with a heavy exhalation. He doesn't feel much more enlightened than he'd felt before the articles. He's not sure the internet has any real answers for him. Or maybe he's just looking in the wrong places.

He sits forward again and types Chris's name into his browser's search bar. When the results pop up, he clicks on the image results.

A page full of hundreds of pictures appears; Chris in beautiful suits and tuxedos, close-ups of him with his impossibly blue eyes seemingly lit from within by bright lights and camera flashes. For the most part the images depict a sophisticated-looking man who has his shit together, but then there are the paparazzi shots of him in his normal day-to-day life, in clothing of questionable taste, even looking a bit homeless at times. His hair is always either perfectly coiffed or a tousled tumbleweedy disaster. There is no in-between.

Then Simon comes across several pictures that he remembers seeing years ago. It's a magazine shoot that he remembers staring at for a long time in slack-jawed awe. He's a bit slack-jawed now as it all comes rushing back, the memory of his own reactions to these images having been pushed down somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind. Because they'd contradicted everything he'd believed he was supposed to be.

What had he told himself back then? Probably that it was merely a reaction to Chris's female companion, who was present in some of the shots. But what about the shots in which Chris was alone? Simon had probably reasoned that wanting to stare didn't necessarily mean anything, and besides, these images were designed to make you stare. They were styled and staged in very particular ways. The shape of Chris's body in certain shots was just universally appealing; gently curved and fluid, long and lean. Anyone would look twice. Simon's pretty sure Chris has made more than a few people question their sexual identity.

He clicks on one of the images, opts to have the search engine show him more images like that one and then filters the results to show large photos only. He clicks on one to enlarge it. In the shot, Chris is in the desert somewhere for some unknown reason, leaned back against a silver car, dressed all in black – leather pants, a muscle tank and boots. The way he's leaning makes his body look like a perfect diagonal line from head to toe. He's bracing himself against the car on his hands and his butt, allowing his legs to extend completely, long and graceful, one crossed over the other. His hips might be thrust just slightly more forward than is natural in order to accomplish the position, but from this three-quarter angle he looks almost like a perfect forward slash. His tank top is raised ever so slightly, showing an enticing sliver of tummy.

Much of the focus is on his groin, which is difficult to miss. Though the leather is slightly dusty from the desert sand, it's still reflective. Sunlight shines faintly at the highest points of the little peaks that have formed where the leather has bunched up around Chris's bulge; shafts of light, like laser beams, focused directly on the point of interest.

Another shot has him leaned against the same car in a slightly different position, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as if he's basking in the sun's warmth and showing off his chiseled jaw and pale throat. Both shots brilliantly showcase his muscular arms and his broad shoulders, and yet he doesn't look big and clumsy. He's elegant and almost delicate. And there's nothing dominant about him here. When he's posing with the model, it is she who feels like the dominant one, even while wearing nothing but mere strips of black lingerie. This isn't about showing off how imposing and masculine Chris is. It's about showing his beauty and his softness.

Yet another shot has Chris perched on the car's hood with a wide stance, his legs creating a perfect triangle pointing right up to his groin. His hands draw the eye there too as they rest lightly on his thighs, fingers splayed, thumbs pointed inward. He's looking directly into the camera with a steely yet still soft gaze. That look coupled with his position, those hands almost framing his bulge … Christ, it's like he's _offering_ himself up.

"You've gotta be fucking joking," Simon mutters to himself, sitting back in his seat as he continues to stare. Once again this photo shoot has left him in utter shock, partially at how one man can look so incredibly appealing, and partially at his own physical reactions. Now that he's fully conscious of it, it's clear as day. When did this happen to him? He hears Meredith's voice in his head asking how he could've missed it. How did he not know?

His phone vibrates on the desk and startles him. He's suddenly jumpy and wonders why. He isn't doing anything wrong. He checks the caller I.D., wondering who on earth it could be at this hour.

It's Chris.

"Speak of the devil," Simon says when he answers.

"Who, me?" Chris asks. His voice sounds rough and gravelly.

"Was just thinking about you."

"Good things, I hope." The roughness takes on a hint of a smile now.

"I'd say so."

"I was thinking about you too."

"You know, it's nearly six in the morning."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Thought you might still be on set. Were you asleep?"

"No, just, er, working a bit before bed." Simon reaches for his mouse and minimizes his browser to get Chris's distracting image off the screen. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just missed your voice, I guess."

Simon's sure Chris has said things similar to that before, but this time it's different. This time the switch has been flipped. This time Simon is fully aware of his body's reactions and what they must mean – the little ball of warmth that floods his chest and rises up his neck to his face, the slight prickle on his skin like he's anxious, but in a good way. It's like he's back in high school and talking to his crush.

Or like when he'd first started dating Meredith. The thought yanks him right back down to earth. This isn't some cute high school romance. It's not a romance at all. It's a completely fucked-up situation.

"How've you been?" he asks. "When we spoke after Beijing, you sounded like you were getting on with it all right."

"Eh," Chris makes a noncommittal noise. "I'm okay. Had a friend over last night. She just left a few hours ago, actually. She'd probably still be here but, uh … she found an earring that didn't belong to her, sooo …"

Simon smiles. "Chris."

"I know, I know," Chris groans.

"I guess Val left a few things behind."

"Well, that's the thing; it's not Val's."

"… Chris."

"I might've had another friend over recently."

"I see. And how many of these 'friends' have you had over in the last while?"

"Uh, three?"

"Including the one tonight?"

"… No."

_"Chris."_

"Mmmph," Chris grumbles. Simon hears the rustling of bed sheets as Chris shifts restlessly in bed. "I didn't call you to get a lecture."

"I'm sorry, love," Simon coos. "I'm just worried about you. Any other time and I wouldn't care, but you haven't been in a good place lately. Talk to me, what's going on with you?"

Chris sighs heavily, takes a moment before he says, "You know damn well what's up with me."

"No, I really don't."

"Well, I guess we haven't really talked about it yet, have we?"

"About wha … oh. Right." The kiss. Or what Meredith said. Probably both.

"How are you and Meredith?" Chris asks.

"All right, I suppose. Shockingly. We're actually getting on really well. We didn't talk for the first few days that I was back, but then we sort of hashed it out and she seems perfectly fine now. Well, maybe not perfectly, but it feels like we're actually friends again."

"That's great. Wow, she's really handling it that well?"

"Yeah. You think she shouldn't be?"

"Don't you?"

"I'm not even sure there's anything to be concerned about," Simon lies. "What if it really is nothing? What if she was wrong?"

"I guess that's possible, but Simon, if she's seeing what she says she's seeing, then others probably have too. Which means even if we weren't conscious of it, doesn't mean it wasn't there the whole time."

"So, what're you trying to do with all of your 'friends', then? Straighten yourself out?"

"I _am_ straight."

"You know what I mean."

"I was just … testing."

"What, to see if you still like girls?"

"Maybe."

"And of course you do."

"Yeah."

"Well, so do I. Not gay, then, you can relax."

"I wasn't worried," Chris says defensively. "I just wondered."

"But why would you? You've been alive a fairly long time, if you didn't like women don't you think you'd know that by now?"

"People make discoveries about their sexuality well into adulthood," Chris says sensibly. It wasn't the answer Simon had wanted, but it's the one he knew he would get. He was kind of hoping Chris would reinforce the idea that there was very little chance that Simon's own sexuality was anything other than what he'd always thought it was, but no such luck.

"So, what've you discovered about yourself?" Simon asks, keeping the focus on Chris.

"I don't know. Maybe I felt something."

"Felt something?"

"When you kissed me."

Simon swallows. "Oh."

"Why'd you do that, by the way? I'm not upset. I'm just a little confused."

"I dunno. You were just so sad and I had to leave. I didn't want to leave you like that, I wanted to stay and comfort you, but I couldn't, so …"

"So, you kissed me."

"What's so wrong with that? I've kissed friends before. I've kissed _you_ before."

"This felt different. You were different."

Simon had been hoping Chris hadn't noticed that. "I guess I just wanted you to know how badly I didn't want to leave you like that. I wanted to make sure. If you couldn't see it on my face or hear it in my voice, a kiss just seemed the logical next step."

There's silence for a moment, then Chris says, "It definitely came across."

Simon winces. He can't read Chris's tone. Is he upset? Simon doesn't think he could bear that. He sits there, fighting off the urge to let embarrassment and guilt swallow him whole. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't. It's okay. There wasn't anything wrong with it."

"Yes, there was. I should've asked first. Or better yet, I shoulda just given you a fucking hug like a normal person."

"Simon, stop. Why would you think to ask first? We haven't needed to ask first for years now. Besides, it was nice, all right? It was really nice."

Simon relaxes a little, though he can still feel his heart pounding way too hard. "You were genuinely shaken up by that kiss, weren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You've no idea how happy I am to hear that."

"Why?"

Simon quickly realizes how that must have sounded. "Because those same exact thoughts about myself have been fucking me up since I got back. Meredith's got me doing research. We had a talk yesterday morning when I got home from work. It got intense for a while there, but she's actually being really supportive. She sent me a few articles, actually."

"Articles about what?"

"The psychology of supposedly straight men who either have sex with men or indulge in gay porn. That kinda thing."

Chris chuckles. "Okay. What've you found?"

"Not sure, to be honest." Simon leans forward, maximizes his browser window again, ignores sexy leather-Chris in the desert and reopens Meredith's e-mail and one of the articles in particular. "There's at least one interesting theory that might fit. You and I are close, right?"

"Yeah."

"Sometimes closeness turns sexual and/or romantic. It's just a way that humans and animals form bonds sometimes. From an evolutionary standpoint, it's better to have some degree of attraction to both sexes. Think about it. People have friends, stay close to family, live in tribes, in groups of all kinds, for a reason; we're stronger together. It's a survival tactic. You're more likely to give assistance to someone you care about. Sex and romance aren't always necessary or advisable obviously, but they are excellent ways to form bonds. Apparently, straight men who know this tend to be at least a little attracted to other men."

"I guess that makes some kinda sense."

"You and me are a tribe. Have been since day one. The experiences we had filming without the others, filming with Leonard; those are ours, something that separates us from the rest and bonds us."

"And you think that's why we're having these feelings now?"

Simon hesitates. "Here's the thing: it doesn't matter why. I mean, yeah, maybe you're just lonely and maybe I'm looking for things that I'm no longer getting from Meredith. _Maybe_. But so what? This, whatever it is, is happening and whatever the reasons might be, discovering what they are won't change the fact that … the idea of being with you isn't even remotely repulsive to me."

"Being with me?" Chris coyly asks for clarification. Simon thinks Chris knows exactly what he means and just wants him to say the words out loud.

"Sex," Simon says more nonchalantly than he feels. "I'm talking about sex. What about you? You said the kiss was nice, so what does that mean for you?"

"Same thing. Yeah, I've thought about it and I can't say it was the worst thought I've ever had."

Simon smiles. "Oh, is that all? Not the worst? Thanks a lot."

Chris laughs. "You know what I mean. Not even remotely the worst. Actually kinda nice. Better?"

"Better. So, we're in the same boat, then."

"Seems so."

"And we're each dealing with it in our own ways: I research, and you … well, you fuck, apparently."

"Hey, you should try the latter. It's not half bad."

"What's that, an invitation?"

"That depends. What do your articles say? Are we still straight or what?"

"No fucking idea," Simon sighs. He switches over to the tab with Chris's picture in it. The image stares at him, both beckoning and accusing.

"You think you're something other than straight?" Chris asks.

"I dunno anymore."

"Does that bother you?"

Simon hesitates. "If I knew for sure, I wouldn't care. But I don't know for sure. My entire sense of who I am has been turned on its head. I simply don't like not knowing. Humans like labels, as limiting as they are. They help us understand ourselves and our world, when used correctly. I just want to know."

"I hear ya," Chris sighs. "Shit, it's like, six a.m. now. I should let you go. You must be tired."

"Getting there. I'm glad you called, though."

"Yeah?" Chris's voice sounds smiley again. "Maybe I'll call again tomorrow morning."

Simon sits back again with a smile of his own. "I'd like that. We should talk more."

"Okay. Hey, uh, thanks. For the other day. The kiss, I guess. I mean, thanks for caring so much."

"Stop it, of course I care."

"Yeah, but that look on your face. You were so worried."

"Still am, to be honest. I've never seen you like that."

"I'm fine. Really. I've got my life, I've got my friends. I've got you."

The warmth is back, along with some aggressive little heart beats; that happy anxiety, like something exciting and wonderful is happening.

"You've got me," Simon confirms. He's instantly struck by the double meaning in his words. The weight of how intense this is becoming hits him and his happy anxiety becomes actual anxiety. Things will really never be the same between them again.

Or maybe they'll be more the same than ever.

_Fuck._

"So, I'll talk to you later? I mean, tomorrow?" Chris asks hopefully. It's as if he thinks maybe Simon's already forgotten his promise and is just making sure.

"Yeah. You have a good day, okay?"

"Okay. Sleep well."

"Bye, Chris."

"G'night, Simon."

* * *

Later that day, in the early evening, Simon's back on set. He's barely been there for a couple of hours before Meredith texts him.

 _"Call me when you get a minute,"_ is all it says.

Simon's stomach does a sickening swan dive. Any variation of "we need to talk" is almost never good. He wonders if she's found something suspicious in his office. Or his bedroom. She's not the type to go around snooping, though. If she wants to know something, she'll just ask.

Maybe she'd heard his conversation with Chris early that morning. If she'd been passing by his office door, she could've caught a snippet. Parts of that conversation had felt almost adulterous.

In his trailer for some downtime, he gives her a call.

"Hey!" she says cheerily when she picks up.

"What's wrong?" he instantly asks.

"Nothing's wrong. I just found some things you might be interested in and I thought it would be easier to discuss them, rather than sending you e-mails. D'you have a minute?"

"Oh, thank god."

"What?"

"When you say we need to talk, it makes my entire back tense up."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she says, sounding amused. "You think I'm a nag now, do you?"

"Of course not, but you know, the whole Chris thing … what's up?"

"Right! I was online researching and I found this website with loads of info about asexuality –"

"Erm, I don't think that's my issue. I _know_ that's not my issue. And so do you, come to think of it."

"No, I know that, but just listen. There are varying degrees of asexuality, yeah? It's a spectrum, like anything else. And on top of that, sexual and romantic orientations are separate things. _So_ , what if your attraction to men is mainly romantic and only sometimes sexual, depending on the emotional connection? Maybe your sexual interest in men only manifests when there's a deep connection."

"I dunno," Simon says uncertainly. "One of those links you sent me said something about that, but in reverse I think. It's an interesting idea, but don't you think I would've noticed something like that by now?"

"Simon, I swear to god you've been in love with men before. You and Nick are practically still on honeymoon, but it's not sexual."

"I've never felt genuine sexual interest in a man before."

"No offense, love, but how do you know that? You didn't know about Chris 'til I told you."

"… fair point."

"Chris is one of the few men that hits all your emotional buttons. And you're close to him and he's bloody gorgeous. It's the perfect storm for bringing out your latent bisexuality."

Simon sits down on the sofa as he considers Meredith's words, and her actions. This is her when she's excited or fascinated by something; she buries herself in it and becomes a walking, talking Wikipedia page. It can be overwhelming, especially after not having seen it for the better part of a year. Why now? Why this? She should be angry, not fascinated.

"Mare," he says, "am I a project?"

"Sorry?"

"You've barely had anything to say to me in the last several months, but now there's this Chris thing and you're all over me."

"Well … I'm just trying to help," she says, sounding deflated.

"No, it's fine, I'm just saying. You're a fixer. When something needs fixing, you tackle it head-on. And if it can't be fixed, you go bury yourself in a million other things so you don't have to think about it. That's what happened with us. You couldn't fix us, so you found other things to do. You checked out."

"That's not fair."

"That's not a judgment. I checked out too. Is that why things went wrong? Because after fifteen years together, there was nothing about me left that was fixable?"

"Oh, Simon, no, we just drifted apart, that's all."

"Well, you have to admit, you are suddenly more enthusiastic about me now that there's this thing that needs figuring out. What about what's-his-face? Spoken to him lately?"

"His name is Bob, and no, not since before you got back from China."

"Have you gone off him?"

"No. I dunno. He's called, but I've been busy."

"Busy with me. You suddenly don't need his attention anymore."

"That's not … bloody hell, I can't believe I'm sat here trying to prove to my husband that I want another man."

Simon has to laugh, at least a little. He doesn't think this is a laughing matter at all, but he can't help it. Meredith laughs too.

"What is so damn funny?" she asks through her laughter.

"Oh, nothing, we're just a fucking mess is all. Tell me something: what happens when all this is settled? Let's say we magically find some reason for why this is happening to me now. Then what? Do we try working on us again or do we explore our other options? This isn't gonna go on forever. We're gonna have to face us again at some point."

"I know," she sighs. "Listen, I'm gonna send you some of this stuff I found. And we'll talk later. Okay?"

Simon thinks she's just avoiding the subject, but he agrees anyway. "Yeah. All right. Later."

Of course they don't talk later, not about their marriage. Their schedules continue to conflict and neither of them does anything about it. When Meredith contacts Simon, it's to share more of her research findings.

He has to be honest, though, he likes talking to her about the things she's learning. He's not sure any of it applies to him, but she sounds happy and enthusiastic and suddenly she finds him fascinating again.

Which is wonderful and a huge relief, but it isn't what it used to be. He still doesn't quite feel like her husband anymore. They're communicating almost better than they ever have before, but there's still a certain kind of connection that's just missing.

And truth be told, he's not that upset about it. Which in itself concerns him, but other than that he's really enjoying their rekindled friendship. There's still intimacy between them; no one knows him like she does and he wouldn't trust anyone else with his feelings about Chris. But there are different types of intimacy, and there's one particular type that they haven't had for a while …

The following morning when he's back at home, he's in his office again. Meredith is presumably asleep upstairs. He occupies himself by going over the scenes he'll be shooting later on in the evening, but he's finding it hard to concentrate. Really he's just waiting for his phone to ring.

And then it does. Well, it vibrates. Chris's number displays on its screen.

"Morning, Thunder Nuts," Simon says with a huge grin.

"Ugh," Chris groans. "We need to talk about that nickname."

"What, doesn't it suit you? You can't see it, but I'm wiggling my eyebrows right now."

"What do you know about my nuts, Pegg?"

"Not much, sadly."

"Ah, I get it. This is the part where I offer to educate you. You smooth motherfucker."

Simon laughs as he swivels from side to side in his desk chair. Fuck it, he's happy. And Chris sounds happy. They make each other feel good and Meredith seems to be okay with it. Maybe this isn't a bad thing after all.

* * *

Saturday afternoon, after a few hours of sleep that hopefully won't screw up his sleep schedule too much for work on Monday, Simon gets up, lets the dogs out into the backyard, and goes back inside to use the bathroom himself. When he emerges a minute later, he gets a bit of a start; Meredith is standing there in the hall waiting for him. In an old t-shirt and boxer shorts-style pajama bottoms, with a random chopstick holding her curls back and her hands on her hips, she declares, "I want pancakes."

"Is that an invitation to join you or a demand to make them for you?"

"A wee bit of 'a' and a wee bit of 'b', really."

He smiles, shakes his head and goes by her, toward the kitchen. "I'll grab the Bisquick. Please tell me we've got bacon."

They end up making the meal together. They eat at the table by the open window, talking animatedly while the dogs hover hopefully at their feet.

"It's not daddy issues!" Simon insists.

"Are you absolutely sure?" she asks for the third time.

"Positive. He's younger than me, for Christ sake."

"His age doesn't matter."

"Mare. _No_."

"Fine." She closes a tab in her tablet's browser, then goes back to munching a piece of bacon. "I think you might prefer younger men."

"I don't prefer men at all."

"No, but when you do like one, it's a younger one."

"You're making me sound like some old perv."

"Maybe you are," she says with a mischievous grin. "Chris wasn't even thirty when you met him."

"You stop that. I didn't look at him that way back then. At least not consciously."

Meredith goes quiet as she eats, a little line now between her brows. Simon lets her think. It gives him time to just eat and not have to talk with a mouthful, and besides, she's cute when she's deep in thought.

She takes a few gulps of orange juice, puts her glass down, sits back and looks at him thoughtfully.

"What?" he finally asks.

"Just thinking."

"I'd managed to work that out. The scary part is _what_ you're thinking. Always is."

She gives him a weak smile. All her mirth and enthusiasm seem to have dissipated.

"Mare?" he says cautiously.

"I think you should explore it," she says. "Chris, I mean. If you want to, and I think you do. And if he wants to, obviously."

He puts his fork down and just stares at her in shock.

"I'm not saying I don't want to work on us. But you're always gonna wonder, aren't you? You have to work with him again in the future, relatively soon probably. Every time you see him you're gonna think about it. You need to settle it. You need to know what it is."

"Just like that? That's how easy it is for you to hand me off to someone else?"

"It's not easy at all. I know that if it were me, I'd need to know. I _do_ need to know. I've watched this go on for nearly ten years." Her shoulders slump and she suddenly looks very tired. For the first time ever, every one of her forty-three years is showing on her face. "Just settle it, Simon."

"What's 'settle it' even mean? What if it turns out he and I want to be together? Then what?"

She looks down at her plate, picks up her last piece of bacon, says, "We'll figure it out," then takes a bite.

"How?"

"We'll figure it out," she repeats more forcefully.

"So, let me ask you this, then: if he was a woman, would you be this cool about it?"

She shoots him a look; icy-gray eyes narrowed, fierce and cat-like, but more suspicious than angry. "What's that s'posed to mean?"

"It just feels a bit like you might be okay with it because you think we're cute together or something. You like men together, it gets you off."

"Oh god, shut _up_ ," she sighs.

"If he was a woman, you wouldn't be so eager to help."

"If he was a woman, I wouldn't need to. You'd just be a cheating bastard, wouldn't you? There'd be nothing to figure out."

He decides not to point out that that's essentially what she is. Her and what's-his-face. She'd only point out that she hasn't really done anything yet. Simon and Chris have kissed, albeit just barely. The tables are not tipped in his favor at the moment.

A phone across the room on the counter starts vibrating. Meredith looks over at it. Simon has his back to it and turns his ear toward the sound.

"I think that's mine," she says as she scoots along the bench to its edge and gets up. She walks across the kitchen, and a couple of seconds later she says, "It's him."

"What's-his-face?" Simon asks flatly without looking back at her.

"Yes."

"Answer it."

"Why?"

"Because you've left him on the hook long enough. You said you were interested, which means you've probably indicated that to him at some point, in some way. From his perspective you were into him and now you're ignoring him. Don't do that to him. Let him know where he stands."

"I thought you hated him."

"I do. But you started this thing with him, so finish it. He and I both need to know exactly what you want, don't we? Just like you need to know about me and Chris."

"What do I tell him?"

Simon shrugs. "Whatever you want."

She answers the phone and tries to sound natural, but her voice goes a little higher than normal. She steps out of the kitchen, goes down the hall toward the front door, out of earshot.

And he waits.

He thinks about her wanting him to "settle it" with Chris, whatever that means. Would she be upset if they slept together? Simon would be if she and what's-his-face did.

She comes back a few minutes later, takes her seat and sets her phone down on the table.

"So?" he asks.

"He asked me out," she says quietly. She seems a bit dazed. She looks anywhere but at his face.

"Oh. What did you say?"

"I said I'd go."

"When?"

"Next weekend."

"Okay."

"You've got that thing with Chris then."

"Yeah."

"So we'll both be busy."

"Yep."

"It might look strange if I'm not there with you, though. I'm always photographed with you at these things."

"It's fine."

"Are you upset?"

Simon thinks about that for a moment. "I'm sort of numb, I think."

"Nothing's happened yet. It's just a date."

"But you want to go."

"I need to know where he and I stand too. I need to see if there's anything real there."

"And if there is?"

She shrugs and says once again, "We'll figure it out."

Simon swallows. Those words sound ominous to him now. He decides to busy himself instead of just sitting there. "I'll clean up," he says, standing and taking both their plates to the sink to rinse them before putting them in the dishwasher. The room is quiet and thick with tension. Every sound is magnified. The running faucet sounds like a thunderous waterfall.

He wants to ask her more questions. He wants to ask if what's-his-face would even have a chance if it weren't for Chris. But he's pretty sure she won't answer that. He's also pretty sure he doesn't really want to know the answer. It's either yes or no, and neither one seems particularly appealing to him.

When he's unable to stand the silence or his own anxious thoughts anymore, he says to her, "You were saying something before. Something about some tribe in Papua New Guinea."

"What? Oh, right. No, that doesn't have anything to do with you. I just thought it was interesting."

"Well, what about those straight women in Tanzania who marry each other?"

"Nah. They don't have sex with each other, nor do they want to … I know what you're doing, you know."

He glances over at her. She's giving him a knowing look, which is a hell of a lot better than that lost, dazed look she'd had a minute ago. She's pulled one foot up onto her seat and is resting her shin against the table's edge as she cradles her coffee cup in both hands. She raises a pale eyebrow at him.

"You always do this, try to distract me to cheer me up," she says, as if he's tried to do this at any point recently. He hasn't. It feels like forever since he's felt like it might be worth it to try. It feels pretty good that she remembers, almost like they've picked up where they left off.

"Is it working?" he asks, knowing full well it is.

To his further relief she smiles as she looks away. "Maybe," she says before sipping her coffee.

End of Chapter 2

[Tumblr](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com) • [Twitter](http://twitter.com/maxwrite)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Articles Referenced:**
> 
>   * [Why Some Straight Men Are Romantically or Sexually Attracted to Other Men](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/joe-kort-phd/why-some-straight-men-are-romantically-or-sexually-attracted-to-other-men_b_3670740.html)
>   * [Science Explains Why So Many Straight Dudes Fantasize About Having Gay Sex Together](https://www.queerty.com/science-explains-why-so-many-straight-dudes-fantasize-about-having-gay-sex-together-20141126)
> 



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gets a visit from Zach, who offers him some sage advice and a healthy dose of concern. Chris continues to be torn between what he wants, what's expected of him, and what he wants others to think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. :) Long time, no see.
> 
> So, I wanted to address the rating switch here. Yes, I changed it from "mature" to "explicit". There isn't anything explicit in this chapter at all, and honestly there isn't anything explicit in the coming chapter(s) yet, either. But I realized I should probably switch the rating now to leave myself room to go explicit if I choose to, because it's better to let you all know as early as possible that things might go there. I don't know if they will. But they _could_. So, I apologize for the switch. I should've labeled it explicit in the first place, but having already written most of it without any real explicit content, it just didn't occur to me, despite it not actually being finished.
> 
> All right. On with the show.

"It's late," Simon says. "I should let you go."

"I don't want you to let me go," Chris protests, not bothering to hide the slight whine in his low, sleepy voice. He's naked in bed, in the dark, phone pressed to his ear beneath the blankets. His words slide from his mouth lazily, nearly running together. "Talk to me s'more."

"About what?"

"I dunno. How are you and Meredith?"

"We're all right. We're definitely getting on better, ironically enough. I wouldn't say the romance is back, but we're friends again."

"Well, that's nice."

"It's so curious, though, she's so eager to help with all this. She's really not bothered."

"Are you still bothered by her and the other guy?"

"Maybe?" Simon says the word like it's a question. "Less so lately. I suppose I'm getting used to the idea."

"Maybe it's because you know that your place in her life isn't threatened."

"It's not?"

"Well, I mean … the two of you aren't exactly … you haven't been … not for a while now …"

"Right," Simon says in a dispirited tone.

"If you two are just friends from now on, would that be bad?"

"A bit sad, maybe."

"You think?"

"It still feels a bit like we've lost something important. But it has been fun the past few days. We can actually laugh with each other again. Still get a bit lonely, though. Part of me doesn't like sleeping alone."

"I bet I know which part of you that is."

Simon emits a low chuckle. "You wanna come over and sort that out for me?"

"Ah-ah, patience. I'm saving myself for our first big date."

"Do I get to take your virginity, then?"

"Mm-hm." Chris closes his eyes and lets his free hand wander down between his legs. He vaguely wonders if this is weird or creepy, touching himself without letting Simon know. Surely Simon can tell by the soft, intimate tone of Chris's voice that this is the sort of conversation that might involve a little self- … handling. Chris isn't being terribly subtle here.

"Well, I promise to be gentle," Simon says. He's not being terribly subtle, either.

"Would you?" Chris asks.

"Hm?"

"If the circumstances were ideal and we got the chance … would you?"

Simon is quiet for a moment. A long moment. Chris isn't asking about being gentle. He's asking if the thing that Simon would be gentle about would actually happen under different circumstances.

"Chris, I …" Simon begins, but he trails off.

"Say it," Chris urges in a whisper. His heart is pounding, his stomach is doing flips. He's walking a tightrope and teetering dangerously close to disaster. What the fuck is he even doing? Simon is married, no matter how unromantic or nonsexual that relationship has become.

But Chris wants this. Whatever the fuck it is. He's probably going to regret parts of this conversation later. He'll regret being so blatant and shameless, but he wants it, right now, in this moment. The hell with later. He can hear every hitch in Simon's breath that suggests maybe he's doing some secret self-handling of his own.

"Please?" Chris begs, knowing exactly what effect his begging has on Simon. He thinks it's cute. It weakens him. This is terrible. _Chris_ is terrible. He's the absolute worst, but he can't stop himself.

"Say what?" Simon asks.

"What we're both thinking. It's driving me nuts. We both know exactly what this is and neither of us will just fucking say it."

"We've said it plenty."

"We joke about it. We playfully flirt around it. We distract ourselves with research and articles and –"

"Sleeping with strangers."

"That's a type of research," Chris snaps defensively. "My point is it's all a distraction. We're acting like we're trying to figure this thing out while doing nothing but dancing around our actual feelings. Don't you think the answers start there? With what we feel?"

"It changes everything, doesn't it," Simon protests. "Saying it out loud means it's real. Then what?"

"Simon. Where was your hand a second ago? Provided it's not still there." Chris hears a sigh. "It's already real. Your wife is upstairs sleeping and you're holed up in your office, just about ready to jer-"

"Okay! Fine! I'm the worst husband ever, I'm a terrible fucking human being. I'm cheating on my wife, essentially, and leading you on at the same time."

"Simon –"

"Maybe I do wanna fuck you. There. There, I said it."

Perhaps Simon had had a point. Hearing the words out loud, without a hint of flirtation or cuteness and not through the guise of discussion about sexuality, douses the frustration that had built up in Chris. The aftermath is an eerie quiet, like the scene of some natural disaster after the dust has settled and the bodies have been counted. Chris suddenly feels small and insignificant, an onlooker who can't really help and who, honestly, caused the entire thing to begin with.

"Maybe?" is all he can think to say in response. He immediately winces. He sounds so fucking desperate, not to mention like an asshole. He knows Meredith. He likes her.

"Fantasizing about something isn't the same as doing it," Simon says simply. He sounds so sensible, Chris feels like he's being scolded. "I don't know how I'd react if we actually tried."

"I'm sorry. I'm being giant bag of dicks right now."

"Yeah, you are. But you're my bag of dicks and I love you."

Chris smiles despite his somber mood. "I don't deserve you."

"No, stop that. You're not the only one being a dick. Neither of us should've been doing what we were just doing, and neither of us was planning on stopping, so …"

"You were really gonna jerk off with me?" Chris asks. He can't help but be touched.

"Course I was. You couldn't tell?"

"I could tell you wanted to. I just wasn't sure you'd go through with it."

"Well, I'm pretty sure I would have."

"Think she'd be mad if she knew?"

"No idea," Simon sighs. He sounds like a man resigned to never understanding the inner workings of his wife's mind, which saddens Chris. Simon and Meredith didn't used to be like this. Or maybe they were just better at hiding it before. "I wanna say no, judging by how she's been lately, but I can't tell with her sometimes. You know, like, maybe she's all right as long as nothing really happens. I don't know."

"I guess we shouldn't have any more of these types of conversations. I mean the kind from a few minutes ago."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"Simon?"

"Shut up, I'm thinking."

"Come on, man, we can't have our cake and eat it too," Chris says with a smile.

"I know. You're just awfully tempting."

Practically forgetting what he'd just said to Simon, Chris replies,"I'm naked, you know."

"I thought you said we shouldn't talk to each other like that anymore."

"I was merely stating a fact," Chris says innocently.

"Mmmm," Simon groans. Whines really. "I'm gonna have to get back to you later on at some point. I, er, have an awkward conversation to have with my wife."

"About what, wanting to jerk off with me?"

"Yeah, that. In the interest of full disclosure. I guess I'd want the same from her, you know?"

"You'd wanna know that? About her and … Dude-whatever-his-name-is?"

"I wouldn't want to know. But I'd need to. She and I can't withdraw again. We're only just getting somewhat back on track. I'd like to continue this open communication we've got going."

"And if she's cool with it?"

Simon sighs again and says, "I don't know." He sounds genuinely lost, certainly more lost than Chris feels at the moment. Chris supposes that if he, himself, was married he'd be a lot more conflicted too.

"Hey, it's all right," Chris says quietly, trying to comfort him. "It's a complicated situation. I just don't wanna do anything to ruin our friendship."

"I'm not going anywhere. You know that."

Chris hopes that's true and he hates that he can't be sure anymore. If push came to shove, Simon should choose his wife, and Chris would tell him as much if it came to that. "Hey. I love you too," Chris says.

"Too?"

"You said it earlier and I didn't get a chance to say it back."

"Oh yeah. Thank you … I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Wait." Chris winces at his own blatant clinginess, but the tiny selfish child inside him needs to end on a more comforting note. "What are you gonna do right now?"

"After I hang up?"

"Yeah."

After a few seconds of silence, Simon's warm voice replies, "Something that involves a lot of thinking about you probably."

Chris smiles to himself. "I'll think about you too. Simon? I don't wanna not be able to talk to you like this."

"Me, either."

"I don't wanna lose you."

"That won't happen. I promise."

"Say something to me before you go."

"Like what?"

"Something you shouldn't say."

Another soft laugh, like the one earlier before the conversation had turned serious. "Will you come nice and hard for me?" Simon asks.

Chris has to press his lips together to keep from moaning at the sensation that floods his lower belly. A soft little noise still escapes him. Simon's voice seems tailor-made for dirty talk. Chris's hand wanders downward again. "Mm-hm."

"You can tell me about it later if you want."

"That's probably a bad idea."

"We left 'bad idea' a while ago. We're well into 'huge fucking mistake' now. You're right. It's already real."

"I love you."

"Love you too. Sleep well, okay? Goodnight, Chris."

"'Night, Simon."

 

 

* * *

Late Saturday morning.

Chris pulls the duvet down off his face and checks the clock. Only a couple of hours until noon, and he's meeting up with Zach and Miles for lunch.

Every morning since Beijing has brought something new. On this day Chris finds he's not so bothered by the empty space next to him. He sits up, squinting in the daylight, and looks to his left. He's still very much aware of the empty space. It's impossible to completely ignore. It's like a natural wonder of the world right next to him, echoing all of his snores back at him, reminding him that his voice is the only one here now. But he's no longer questioning whether that space should be there. That uncertainty, the second guessing; that was the worst. He's not great. Not yet. It's not that he's not lonely. But he is better. Having at least one uncertainty removed from his life is definitely progress.

Now, this thing with Simon …

The more he thinks about it, the more perfect it seems, despite its complications. Or maybe because of them. He gets the comfort of a relationship of sorts while still keeping his autonomy. Because he honestly can't tell which is worse, loneliness or loss of freedom.

It's too early to be thinking this hard. He gets up, pulls on a pair of boxers and shifts his focus and energy to a much more pressing issue: Fruity Hoops or Honey Cluster Flakes.

After a quick visit to the kitchen, he wanders back into his bedroom, bowl of cereal in hand, and decides to acknowledge the little notification light blinking on his phone.

Apparently, Simon called. Shit, when did Simon call? Last night, well after Chris had fallen asleep. It would've been early afternoon for Simon. Chris wishes he'd left his ringer on. He sits on his bed, puts the message on speaker and continues eating while Simon tells him about a study someone conducted on a group of bisexual men. Simon isn't sure it pertains to the two of them at all, but he thought it was interesting.

 _"Anyway,"_ Simon says after his info dump, _"looking forward to next weekend. Not so much the awards ceremony, but it'll be nice to see you again so soon."_ He pauses, clears his throat awkwardly. He sounds more serious when he speaks again. _"Erm, you know, Meredith and I were talking and, well, she thinks it's probably best if we … I can't even say it. I know this has been a long time coming, but god. I never thought I'd have to even think about this, but here we are, so … you know, Chris, I love you. A lot, and … shit, she's coming. I've gotta go. Talk to you later."_

And he hangs up.

Chris stares at the phone on the nightstand, confused and mildly shocked. He's stopped eating. Little droplets of milk hang in his beard like Christmas ornaments. That was weird. Really weird. First of all, if Meredith knows about all this, is doing research about all this, why would Simon be so panicked about her catching him talking to Chris?

Meredith thinks it would be best if who did what? What was so difficult for Simon to say?

Chris feels all the color drain from his face as he remembers his and Simon's less than platonic conversations in the wee hours of the morning. Simon did say he was going to discuss that with Meredith, come clean. Maybe knowing that something's really starting to happen has finally brought things into focus for her. Maybe she's no longer okay with this and thinks it's best if Simon and Chris take several big steps back from their friendship or whatever it is now. It made sense. Simon had sounded so conflicted. Yes, he could have been talking about his marriage, but that didn't seem like something he'd talk to Chris about via voicemail. On the phone, maybe. In person, certainly. But he wouldn't have put something like that in a message, would he?

 _"… to skip to the next message, press four …"_ the automated menu prattles on about Chris's options for dealing with the message he's just heard. None of its offerings seem anywhere near adequate. Delete the message (and ignore it)? Skip to next message (and postpone dealing with Simon for a while)? Hear the time and date the message was sent (when Simon had apparently decided to tell Chris they could never hang out or talk to each other outside of work ever again)?

How about to rewind time and go back to Beijing and keep his dumb feelings about his breakup to his damn self, press one. To rewind even further to before the press tour had even begun and have a conversation with Simon about both of them toning down the homoerotic shit, press two. How about going all the way back to 2007 and refraining from being such a goddamn flirt, like some dumb kid desperate for his mentor's attention, press three. How about that? Those are far better options.

 _Maybe to rewind back to Beijing and reciprocate when the man kissed you, press four,_ says the annoying voice in Chris's head. _To finally acknowledge that all this time, this entire time, he's been giving you very clear signals about what he wants and that you've been responding like a horny, lovesick, clueless teenager, because that's basically what you are, press five. How about, to admit that you're kind of a homewrecker, press six._

"Jesus," Chris mutters to himself. His cereal spoon is back in the bowl he's still holding. He's not hungry anymore.

_To admit to exactly how raunchy the fantasies you've been having lately have become, press seven. To admit to deliberately steering your conversations with him into intimate territory, press eight. To skip to the part where you actively, knowingly and with purpose, attempt to steal someone else's husband, press pound. Get it? Pound? 'Cause that's what you want him to do to you._

"Stop it," Chris says aloud, giving his head a shake as if trying to knock the insufferable little man inside it onto his ass.

_To send dick pics, press nine._

"Fuck."

_To repeat this menu and wallow in self-pity until you call your ex-girlfriend and beg her to take you back in some misguided attempt to prove how responsible you are, press star. Make your selection now, Chris._

He reaches out and presses the appropriate number key to save Simon's message. His voicemail confirms that it's been saved and goes onto the rest of the messages while Chris tries to focus and listen. His head is a jumbled mess of fear and guilt and panic, while his stomach isn't sure if the awfulness it's feeling will be appeased or made worse by food.

His old roommate from university called to say that he's switching his bachelor party to a different day.

His assistant called to say that her temporary replacement is having scheduling issues and isn't sure he'll be able to cover the last two days of her honeymoon. She's working on it.

A friend called to say that Chris just _has_ to come by and see the baby when he gets a chance.

Zach called to say that Miles has a meeting and won't be joining them for lunch but will meet up with them later. This snaps Chris out of his daze and he picks up his phone to return Zach's call, happy to have a distraction from the slow-motion train wreck in his head.

After a shower and an attempt to make himself look halfway decent, he heads out. The cafe he and Zach have chosen has exposed brick walls with an artfully patchy white paint job. There is a long, white counter with bar stools made of rattan and iron. At one end of the counter is a deli case filled with plastic-wrapped artisanal sandwiches, rustic-looking pastries and bottles of fresh, brightly colored juices that promise things like tranquility, energy, and focus. Behind the counter is a wall of shelves laden with glassware and pottery. The food prep area is there too, out in the open so customers can watch their paninis being grilled and their salads being tossed. A seemingly random collection of artwork – photographs, paintings and tapestries – adorns the walls in clusters near the tables, which are a hodge-podge of square, rectangular and round shapes. It's as if nobody had been able to decide between cozy bohemian and clean minimalist, but somehow it works.

Chris is seated on an L-shaped sofa with a round table before him and a large window behind. He's left with a menu and glass of water until Zach walks in a few minutes later.

He's casual in a plain tee with a high v-neck, slim jeans with the cuffs rolled up and pristine white sneakers. His thick hair is perfectly tamed, with a couple of stray tendrils arching down onto his forehead. Chris finger-combs through his wild blond tuft of hair that had gotten out of control again the moment he'd left the house. _Good enough,_ he thinks after a couple of swipes.

"Sorry Miles couldn't join us," Zach says when he hugs Chris hello. "He had to shift some meetings around, but you'll see him later."

"Nah, it's cool. He's a busy guy."

"He made you something." Zach pulls back, gives Chris a firm pat on the arm and a knowing smile before moving away so they can both have a seat.

It only takes Chris a second to figure out what Miles must have made for him. "Is that why he asked if I'd gotten any new artwork for the house? I thought he was just being curious."

"Mm-hm," Zach hums a 'yes' to Chris's question while looking at his menu. "Hope you like seeing my face every day, at four times its normal size."

Chris looks up from his own menu to give Zach a wide-eyed, apprehensive look.

Without looking at Chris, Zach frowns and adds, "The eyes really follow you around the room. Freaky."

"Ah. You're joking," Chris says with deadpan relief. "No offense or anything, but –"

"None taken. I'd be concerned if you were on board."

Barely a few minutes into their lunch together and Chris is already starting to feel normal again. He sneaks a peek at Zach and feels a rush of warmth in his chest as he watches Zach furrow his brow at the menu. He's no doubt going through each entree's description with a fine-tooth comb, searching for ingredients he doesn't like. Picky bastard.

"Hey, thanks for coming to see me," Chris says. "It's really good to see you again. Miles too."

Zach looks up, lowering his menu and looking slightly concerned. "You don't have to thank me."

"Yeah, I know," Chris says with a sheepish half-shrug. "I just don't say it enough, you know?"

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I'm just contemplative. Thinking about my friends, how much you mean to me, how fleeting things can be."

Zach nods as if he understands exactly what Chris is talking about. He doesn't know about Simon, but he does know about Val. That's probably what he's thinking of. Or maybe …

Oh.

"We should all be more mindful of the time we have with each other," Zach says. "I'm as guilty of taking people for granted as anyone else."

Chris supposes his and Simon's situation has only exacerbated the perpetual sense of loss he's been feeling since June. Add Val on top of all that and no wonder Chris hasn't felt right in weeks.

So Zach doesn't know the whole story but is on the same page anyway. This is exactly what Chris feels he's needed most lately. He doesn't want to talk about his feelings. He doesn't want to expend precious energy going into details. He wants comforting, unspoken, effortless connection.

Maybe that's why he's been so selfish with Simon. It feels good to flirt, even if it is skirting the edges of disaster. It feels good to make impossible plans with someone, to fall into a fantasy. He suddenly feels hot with embarrassment, now realizing just how raw and open he's been in those moments with Simon.

He decides to change the subject.

"So, what's been going on with you?" he asks.

"No, forget about me. How have _you_ been?"

"I know you're worried, and that's sweet, but I don't wanna talk about me."

"Just indulge me for moment. You haven't been alone, have you?"

"Zach, I'm fine," Chris says with a little chuckle at what a mother hen Zach can be. "I'm a big boy, I can chill by myself for a few days. And no, I haven't been alone. I've had shit to do, people to see, a house to furnish. It's been hectic, I've only had a chance to breathe in the past couple of days."

"How's that coming along, by the way? The house."

"Good. Had a couple of pieces I ordered finally come in. I actually have proper seating now, so that's nice. What about you? Still doing press?"

"Yeah. That's part of why I'm here, actually."

"What about the play?"

"Rehearsals haven't started yet. I'm anxious to get to work on it."

"I don't blame you. I'd love to do theater again."

"Why don't you?"

"I'm just busy, man. I got a lotta projects lined up. Didn't think to consider adding theater to the mix. I miss it, you know? That instant live feedback. Maybe I'm just feeling stuck and need a change of pace."

"You do seem pensive."

"Just doing a lot of soul searching, I guess. It's nothing."

Zach's eyes are luminous, even when not in direct sunlight. They're like a spotlight shining on everything Chris is trying to hide. Chris always feels a bit naked with Zach. He doesn't mind it so much, since Zach seems to know when to back off and when to push Chris to talk. Chris supposes this is a time for the latter.

"You're still discombobulated," Zach observes.

It's not a question. Chris knows he isn't doing a very good job of hiding it, so he nods. "Discombobulated. Consternated. Dilapidated … a little constipated."

Zach gives him a faint, polite smile, but the concern remains all over his face. "Have you been writing? That always helps you work things out."

"Not since Beijing. Haven't had time."

"You should try," Zach gently encourages him.

The truth is Chris has considered doing just that but has rejected it every time. He'd already done a ton of journalling, some before the press tour had begun. He hasn't written anything since the kiss. He hasn't felt that it would help make things any clearer, and thinking about the situation – how Meredith had to point it out, has had to live with it right in her face all this time – just makes him feel worse. What's he supposed to do at this point, doodle Simon's name with a little heart to dot the "i"?

"I don't think it would help," he says simply.

"Stream of consciousness," Zach suggests. "Don't think, just do it. Something illuminating almost always results from that. It's still so soon after the breakup, there must be a multitude of things going on inside you that you aren't even aware of yet."

"Yeeeah, maybe. It's not just her, though. Val."

"Something else has happened?"

"Boy, I'll say."

Zach only has the chance to raise a questioning eyebrow before their server arrives to take their orders. Once she's gone, Zach focuses on Chris again. "Is this new problem the thing that was bothering you in China?"

"No, that was Val. Sort of. It's not her so much as just an existential crisis. She just exacerbated it."

"So, the existential crisis is the trouble now?"

"No. I mean, not entirely."

"Chris, exactly how many crises have you had since we left Beijing?"

"Just the one, I promise. It's just sort of a big one."

"And it is …?"

"It's more of an identity crisis, I guess."

"Is it work? Is that why you're considering going back to theater?"

"No, it's, um …" Chris hesitates. He glances around at the other tables in the cafe. Each one is occupied, but no one's paying him and Zach much mind. If anyone recognizes them, they're being polite enough not to stare, at least while Chris is looking. If Chris speaks quietly enough, no one should hear, not with the hum of chatter and restaurant noises.

Back to Zach, who is waiting patiently. Chris leans forward, elbows on the table, and gestures for Zach to do the same. "It's sexuality stuff," he half whispers. Zach's mouth falls slightly open in a silent "ahh" as he nods sagely. Chris tries not to be annoyed that Zach doesn't seem at all surprised. "This guy – he's a friend – might have feelings for me and I might have feelings for him."

"Romantic or sexual?"

Chris thinks for a moment as he sits back in his seat, then replies, "Yes."

Zach nods again. "When did this start?"

"Beijing. I mean he and I were in touch while I was there. But it's just him. No other guys. We flirt sometimes and it's nice but it was always just playful until recently. And he kissed me once and it wasn't half bad, I guess. If something else had happened I can't say for sure that I would've –"

"You kissed him?" Zach interrupts.

"He kissed me. It was a little peck, no big deal. I was upset and he was worried and he tried to comfort me."

"With his lips."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Judgy Face. Quit looking at me like that."

"And you responded well to that," Zach says, ignoring Chris's annoyance.

"I certainly didn't hate it. Actually, at the time I was too stunned to know what I was feeling."

"Okay." Zach goes quiet again, his eyebrows now inching toward one another.

"Why are you quiet? I hate it when you do that."

"Do you want to explore it?" Zach asks.

"I don't know."

"You know, of course, that sexuality is fluid and this doesn't necessarily mean –"

"Yes, I know that. I'd still like to know what it is. I mean, what it means for me, for my … label, I guess. Is that stupid? It shouldn't matter, should it?"

"Yes and no. We like knowing how to define ourselves. That's natural. Even those who reject labels like to know what it is they're rejecting. The danger lies in thinking that you _have_ to pick a label. You don't. And falling in love with one man doesn't mean you're not straight."

"Right," Chris says uncertainly.

"You know, Chris … bisexuality –"

"I don't know that that's what this is."

"I know, but just listen. It's simply the capacity to experience sexual attraction to more than one gender. That's all it is. By that definition, sure, you could identify as bi. Or not, if you preferred. These things aren't set in stone, and they're defined by no one but you."

"The capacity, huh," Chris says thoughtfully. Somehow the definition feels both too broad and too confining. "It just feels weird, thinking of myself as something different at this point in the game. You know? And yeah, nothing has to change. It's just one guy. But 'straight' just …"

"What?"

"It doesn't feel right anymore." It's the first time he's said it out loud, admitted it to himself. He has to take a moment to breathe, feeling like his lungs suddenly aren't big enough. He slowly exhales and says, "Wow."

Zach nods. "Interesting. Sometimes people reject labels because the ones we currently have feel inadequate. If there's nothing that defines you to your liking, you don't have to define yourself at all."

Chris turns that over in his head. He's perfectly fine with others not being sure about his sexuality, but he still feels the need to know. He merely nods and says, "Yeah."

"You seem dubious."

"Feels weird, not picking a side."

"It sounds like you'd prefer not to. Not surprising; you've never liked the idea of being tied down."

"I …" Chris begins to protest, having an immediate negative reaction to Zach's last statement. He trails off, though, instead saying, "Val used to say that all the time. Just off-hand, in reaction to any and every indecisive moment I had. It could've been about anything; what restaurant to go to, what shirt to wear. She'd mutter it in that almost resigned way that said she was just putting up with it. Drove me nuts."

"She and you were not well-suited to each other."

"I'll say."

"Well, you know I didn't mean it like that. It was simply an observation. Maybe it's time to stop fighting what you are. You don't have to conform for anybody. What does the other guy say about all this? Have you spoken to him about it?"

"A little. He's sort of going through the same thing."

"He identifies as straight?"

"Yup."

"Interesting."

"I suppose I should also mention that, um … he's sort of married."

Zach pauses with his water glass poised at his lips. "I see."

"He's not cheating. We're not even doing anything."

"But he kissed you," Zach points out.

"Well, yeah, but his wife knows about the situation."

Zach hesitates, apparently stumbling over Chris's words. "I'm not sure that makes it better."

"Well, it can't make it worse, can it?"

"Potentially, yes. That's one extra person, that you may or may not be able to trust, who has sensitive information about you. And seeing as this is her husband we're talking about, how do you know she won't retaliate?"

"Because she's not like that. Besides, she's not upset."

Zach cocks his head with mild exasperation at Chris's apparent stupidity.

"It's complicated, all right?" Chris simply adds, recoiling from Zach's scrutiny.

Zach exhales slowly. "Chris, I don't know …"

"They're both discreet. No one's gonna tell anyone anything. You don't think he's got something to lose by letting this cat outta the bag?"

"I have no idea. Which brings up a good question: who is this person?"

"I can't tell you. I would. I really would, but I can't."

Zach goes quiet again, and just in time, too, as their server returns with appetizers; bruschetta for Chris, flax seed chips for Zach, each with a colorful salad. When she departs again, Zach asks, "If something else had happened, you can't say for sure that you would've what?"

"Huh?"

"When you were talking about the kiss, you said something like … if anything else had happened, you weren't sure if you would have … that's where I interrupted you. What were you going to say?"

Chris hesitates again as he sprinkles black pepper on his salad, paying far closer attention to its even distribution than he normally would. He remembers exactly what he'd been going to say but he isn't sure he wants to say it now or look Zach in the eye again.

"Chris," Zach says sternly.

"I don't know," Chris snaps under his breath.

"Yes, you do."

With a sigh, Chris drops the hand with the pepper shaker down onto the table and shoots Zach a tired look. "Please don't make me regret confiding in you."

Zach sits there staring back with his unnervingly wise gaze, his spotlight eyes making Chris want to squint and look away again. "You would've," he repeats, but this time it isn't a question. There is no ellipsis on the end. It is a complete sentence. Two utterly innocuous words that spell out exactly what Zach knows Chris would've done had he gotten the chance.

Chris does avert his eyes now because Zach's are piercing through his skull and seeing every single terrible, inappropriate, covetous, selfish thought he's had in the past few days. He finishes peppering his salad, puts the shaker down and proceeds to aggressively stab his arugula with his fork. "Don't," he says before shoving way too much food into his mouth.

Zach begins eating too. He chews methodically for a while in silence, then swallows and says, "Just be careful."

Chris looks cautiously at him. "That's it?" he mumbles through a mouthful of salad.

"What else is there?" asks Zach. Without looking at Chris he gestures at his own mouth and adds, "You've got a little something there."

"You didn't even – ugh," Chris groans. He swallows and grabs for his napkin, quickly wiping away a bit of dressing from the corner of his mouth. "You didn't even look."

"Didn't have to. I've eaten with you before."

"So, that's it?"

"What's it?"

"Just 'be careful'? No lecture?"

"You're a grown man."

"Are you disappointed? You won't look at me."

Zach stops and finally meets Chris's eyes. He doesn't look worried anymore. He looks stern and judgmental. Chris makes a concerted effort to not shrink back or look away.

"Just promise me you'll be careful," Zach repeats.

"I promise. _Dad_."

The way Zach's mouth twitches as he smiles tells Chris that that smile is very reluctant but unstoppable.

Chris smiles back and says in a placating tone, "I promise. Okay? He's … we care about each other. A lot. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to me."

Zach holds his gaze for a moment, all his sternness having dissolved into something softer. He gives Chris a nod, apparently deciding to trust him and this mystery guy to not be complete idiots, and goes back to eating. "I admit, I'm curious to know who he is," he says.

"Please, can we talk about something else? Literally anything."

Zach suddenly pauses and reaches down into his pocket to grab his phone, which must have just vibrated. He looks at the screen with a frown as though expecting bad news, but his expression quickly becomes a smile. He puts his phone down on the table and continues eating.

"Miles," he says. "He posted something on Instagram. My apologies, I usually turn those notifications off when I'm with friends."

"That's all right. What did he post?"

"Nothing, it's just a silly picture."

"Can I see?"

"Maybe if you'd upgrade your phone to something manufactured in this decade –"

"No. My phone makes calls. Like, you know, a _phone_. That's all it needs to do. Now let me see what cute, dumb thing your boyfriend did so I can live vicariously through you. My boyfriend's married, remember?"

"I will never cease being flabbergasted that you went and got yourself a flip phone," Zach says as he hands his own phone over with Miles's picture displayed on screen. "Will you be okay handling that, old man?"

"I'll be fine, thanks," Chris replies flatly.

"Don't be alarmed now. Miles isn't actually inside the tiny device, and I'm fairly certain the camera has not, in fact, captured his soul."

"You're a jackass, you know that?"

Miles had apparently slipped into a public restroom to snap a quick picture of his reflection in a mirror. On the mirror before him he's drawn a large heart in what appears to be some kind of white foam – bathroom hand soap, probably – and he's positioned right at the heart's center, his phone held up before his face. There's a sepia-tone filter over the image and the caption below reads, _"love notes from restrooms"_.

"That's sweet," Chris says, putting the phone down. He means it, but his voice holds no conviction. Afraid he might have sounded sarcastic, he adds, "I mean that, by the way."

"I told you it was silly."

"No, it's nice. He misses you."

Zach smiles to himself, then sobers a bit as he looks at Chris. "But you wanted to talk about something else."

"Miles is something else."

"No, we don't have to talk about relationships. How's work?"

"Press and awards shows and red carpet stuff. The usual." Chris trails off and just shrugs.

"Reading anything?"

"This self-help book about the power of intention."

"That sounds interesting."

"Yeah."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You sound pensive again."

Chris stops himself from answering, instead trying to think of a quick lie to tell Zach. Realizing it's pointless because Zach will know he's lying, he says, "We're supposed to be talking about something else."

"Chris, I'm your friend. I'm here to listen if you need it. And if something is weighing so heavily on your mind that all conversational roads lead back to it, maybe that's a sign that you need to talk it out. Suppressing things doesn't work. You know that."

"Eurgh," Chris emits a noise of disgust at himself as he presses his elbows to the table's edge and his forehead to his steepled fingers. When he raises his face again, he admits, "I just keep thinking about how this is all happening because of what I've been putting out into the universe."

"The book you're reading," Zach says with a nod.

"Stuff happens for a reason. I'm a big believer that there are no accidents."

"Sometimes things need to happen in order to teach you something."

"What could this possibly be meant to teach me?"

Zach thinks for a moment. "Perhaps it's meant to show you what you really want."

"By teasing me with something I can't have?"

Zach shrugs. "The universe is kind of fucked up that way."

"Ugh," Chris sighs into his hands. After a moment, he fixes Zach with a curious stare. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How did you know moving in with Miles would be a good idea? How do you just _know_ that? All right, it's not marriage, but it's still a big deal."

Zach stops eating and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. "It's a question of what brings you joy. What adds more to your life than takes away from it? Sure, Miles isn't the neatest person I've ever met, and he has this competitiveness that makes me never want to play board games with him. Oh, and he refuses to eat corn on the cob. Did I ever tell you that?"

"Uh, no. Is that a big deal?"

"He likes corn just fine, just not on the cob. He will literally take a knife and slice the kernels off and eat them out of a bowl with a spoon. A _small_ spoon. Drives me up the wall."

"Oh my god, Zach," Chris says, stifling his own laughter.

"He eats so slowly," Zach says, shutting his eyes and rubbing at his temples.

"And you two manage to make it work despite such hardship? Astounding."

"My point is I'm happy he's there every morning, even if he spent ten full minutes the night before doing a victory dance because he beat me at Scrabble. There's so much that I don't even have to explain to him because he just gets me. I feel his absence profoundly when we're apart for too long. There came a point when I realized that living together was simply more practical than living apart, that whatever differences we had would be worth dealing with just to be together. I knew I wanted to share my life with him because the alternative simply didn't feel like an acceptable option."

Chris shakes his head, searching Zach's face as though Zach is suddenly foreign to him. "I've never felt that. Not as strongly as that anyway."

"Does that worry you?"

"Maybe a little. I guess I feel like I'm losing time. Everyone's moving forward. The biggest self-proclaimed 'bachelor-for-life' from university is getting married soon. He swore he'd never let anyone tie him down, and now here he is, having a bachelor party with no strippers because he promised his fiancée he wouldn't."

"People change."

"You think so? What if this is who he was all along and he just didn't know it? Or was hiding it? What if we don't really ever change? What if we just are what we are?"

Zach thinks for a moment. "It's rather interesting how your breakup and subsequent affair happened within such a short span of time."

"Pease don't call it an affair. Nothing's even happened yet."

Zach raises an eyebrow at him. "Yet."

"Stop that. Now, what's so interesting about it?"

"Midlife crisis."

"Oh my god," Chris says, slumping down in his seat, suddenly feeling every one of his thirty-six years. "That didn't even occur to me."

"It makes sense. You're at an age when you look into your future and realize there are potentially more years behind than there are ahead. You're wondering if you've wasted your limited time, just as you said. You're panicking."

"Maybe, but … no, wait. If anything, this feels more like a rebound situation, and besides, the married guy wouldn't even be happening if his wife hadn't pointed it out and if he hadn't kissed me."

"If she hadn't pointed what out?"

"That he and I have feelings for each other."

" _She_ pointed it out?"

"Oh. Yeah, I should've mentioned that before. Neither of us knew it until she said it. Apparently, we haven't been terribly subtle."

"And you think she's okay with it?" Zach asks incredulously.

"Honestly, I have no idea. She doesn't seem to be that upset, from what he's said."

"Are you sure he's not just saying that to try to convince you to be with him behind her back?"

"That's not what he's doing."

"But he kissed you."

"He was comforting me."

"By making out with you."

"Dude, you're dad-ing me again."

"I'm sorry." Zach holds up his hands and sits back. "I'm just saying, maybe you should look at the situation a little more critically. Can you really trust this guy?"

"Yes, absolutely. I think you'd like him, actually."

"I'm not so sure."

"Ugh," Chris groans again and rolls his eyes. "This is why I didn't wanna talk about me."

Zach hesitates. He purses his lips the way Chris's mother did when she was unsure. Or disappointed and didn't want to say so.

"Let's just stay off of the subject of relationships altogether," Chris insists.

"Fine," Zach agrees, definitely sounding uncertain. He's still worried. He still thinks everything can be fixed with a conversation, but Chris is pretty sure that's not true. He's also pretty sure that that conversation would involve Zach doing everything in his power to convince Chris not to do something stupid, which would only solve half of Chris's problem. Now that he knows what's up, he can't un-know it. He has to deal with it, with or without Simon.

"What are you doing while you're here, besides listening to me complain?" Chris asks.

"Well –" Zach begins but is cut off when his phone begins vibrating across the table. He snatches it up, ready to tuck it back in his pocket, but the screen catches his eye. His mouth does the twitchy thing again but this time is more successful at keeping the smile at bay. Not enough to hide it from Chris, however.

"What?" Chris asks.

Zach casts a furtive glance Chris's way as he puts his phone away. "It's nothing."

"It's Miles again, isn't it?"

Now one corner of Zach's mouth curls upwards as he down-casts his eyes, his long, dark lashes creating delicate little curtains against his skin.

"Are you _blushing_?" Chris asks.

"It's nothing," Zach repeats, meeting Chris's eyes but only briefly before occupying himself by drinking water.

"Just say it was Miles."

Zach swallows, puts his glass down, stalls by swallowing too slowly and licking his lips. He nods and replies, "It was Miles."

"Jesus," Chris laughs.

"He just tweeted the cutest thing."

"You two can't be apart for one fucking hour?"

"I'm sorry. No more phone, for real this time."

"You didn't used to be like this, you know. You and I used to be on the same wavelength when it came to technology."

"I have someone in my life that I want to be connected to, always. Things change."

"Good lord," Chris says, folding his arms and shaking his head at Zach. "You're like my university friend."

"Who, Bachelor-for-Life? Nooo, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. Look at you. Miles practically has you on call. Don't get me wrong. It's adorable and all, but I remember a time when the sight of someone on a phone they weren't using for verbal communication made your eye twitch. That's a Zach I understood. What happened to him?"

"Chris. You bought a flip phone. At that point I knew you had ventured to places I couldn't follow. I had to move on."

"The old Zach would've understood my choice."

Their server returns with spaghetti squash pasta for Chris and a black bean and kale rice bowl for Zach. After Chris has her grate fresh cheese onto his pasta a little too long, Zach graciously excuses her.

"She has other things to do besides grate cheese for you for half an hour," Zach says under his breath as she walks away.

"The holes on that fucking thing are too small," Chris mutters back.

"I'll be sure to complain to the manager."

Chris snort-laughs at that, then looks over at Zach when they both go quiet. Zach is engrossed in getting a little bit of everything in his rice bowl onto his fork. Chris watches him quietly for a moment, suddenly feeling a pang of guilt.

"Hey, uh," he begins, "I'm really happy for you two, you know."

Zach looks up now. "What?"

"You and Miles. I don't think I ever said. It's been a few years now, so I thought I'd mention it. I'm happy for you. I was being kind of a brat about it a second ago, so …" Chris ends his sentence with a shrug and promptly shoves food in his mouth.

Zach doesn't speak right away. After a few seconds it gets awkward, so Chris looks up at him again, just his eyes popping up to check on him. Zach is watching him warmly, affectionately, but there's something else there too. It makes Chris fidget. What's Zach seeing now? What has Chris neglected to hide?

"What are you doing after GQ?" Zach asks when Chris drops his gaze again. "Any immediate commitments after the awards?"

"Not a whole lot. Why?"

"Maybe you could come down and visit us. You could stay a few days. It'll be nice."

"You're very kind, but I'll be okay."

"Chris."

Chris's shoulders slump as he exhales a little too heavily. He looks into Zach's once-again concerned eyes.

"Come," Zach says. "Don't think about it, just come."

The last thing Chris wants is Zach's pity, but he knows it isn't really that. Or isn't just that, anyway. Zach is just looking out for his friend. Chris decides not to throw it in his face.

"You know what?" Chris says, bolstering a little enthusiasm. "You're right. It'll be nice to get away for reasons other than work. Sure, I'll come stay. I've got a week of press to deal with, but after that –"

"Good," Zach says with a smile. "It'll be fun. Miles will be happy to have someone else around the house to sketch."

Zach goes on about how many half-finished sketches of himself are lying around Miles's studio in their New York apartment and Chris listens and nods and laughs when appropriate, but all he's thinking about is how he's going to avoid feeling like a third wheel while staying with them.

Now it's Chris's phone's turn to interrupt their conversation. He frowns and pulls it out of his back pocket. "Who the fff – wait, it's a text. This phone can receive texts?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," Zach says. "I'm impressed."

"Yeah, well, I'm not. Who's …" Chris trails off when he sees that the text is from Simon. He reads it quietly to himself.

 

> _"So, apparently Mare thinks our until-recently-latent-gay-for-each-other-ness might be the result of our respective birth orders. No, I'm not joking. I've a younger sister and brother, and you've got an older sister. Our age gap is similar to the age gaps between each of us and our siblings. With me so far? Ok. So, she thinks maybe I'm looking for someone to look after and you're looking for someone to look after you, which is stupid, I know, but she likes talking about all this. We seem to be a fascinating case study to her. Anyway, just thought you might find that interesting."_

 

As Chris finishes reading, another text arrives from Simon. He opens the second one and continues:

  

> _"About that message I left you earlier. I realized too late that I left you with kind of a cliffhanger. Never actually said what I was talkin' about. Sorry about that. It's nothing for you to be concerned about. It was mid-afternoon and I was in a pancake stupor and wasn't thinking clearly."_

 

Chris wonders why Simon didn't just call, then considers that maybe he was afraid of being caught talking to Chris, like he was in his voicemail.

 

> _"Mare and I had a talk about a thing. THE thing actually; there's really only the one thing these days. Things are changing between her and me. Which is kind of a relief, despite the looming threat of the unknown. At least it's something, you know? We've had a long enough period of nothing. You and me, though, we're still good, so no worries there. I need you. Work just isn't the same without you around to get me in trouble. Miss you."_

 

Dammit, Simon. Quit being charming, you infuriating sack of sh –

"Something funny?"

Zach's voice reminds Chris that other people can see him and he tries with marginal success to wipe the grin off his face. "Oh, uh … yeah. Just something from a friend. No one you know."

"It's certainly nice to see you smile like that. Whoever it is, thank them for me."

"Will do," Chris says, still smiling a little as he sets his phone down on the table. He feels a bit silly because Simon didn't say anything particularly funny in his text, and in fact he'd hinted at his and Meredith's troubles intensifying. But it was just nice getting something from a friend.

 _You're with a friend right now,_ says the annoying voice in his head. _Not good enough for you?_

Of course, Zach is plenty good enough. The question nags at Chris, though, because if his friends are good enough, and he doesn't want to be tied down by a romantic relationship anyway, what's his problem?

He watches Zach quietly enjoying his rice bowl for a moment, barely noticing whether he's enjoying his own lunch or not. He has another question, but he doesn't want to keep bothering Zach with his problems.

"What?" Zach asks without looking up from his food.

"Nothing." Chris straightens up a bit and focuses on his own plate.

"What is it?" Zach demands. Now he looks up; Chris can see the movement in his periphery. "You keep looking at me like I just fell from outer space. Talk to me."

Chris glances up with just his eyes for a second before putting another forkful of spaghetti squash into his mouth. "I just wonder," he says through his mouthful as he readies another forkful of food, "is there a difference for you between getting cute messages from Miles versus getting messages from a friend?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know, like when Miles tweeted a while ago and you got all dopey about it. It would be different if it had been a message from a friend."

Zach thinks for a moment. "I suppose. It's definitely a different emotion, but not necessarily any less welcome."

"Right, but it _is_ different. There are different types of lonely."

"Sure, of course. You can't get everything you need from one person or one type of relationship. That's what you're getting at, isn't it? You have a different type of connection to your family than to your friends, and to your friends than to your lovers."

"Right." Chris pauses to swallow, squinting a bit as he looks thoughtfully out the big window at the bright L.A. afternoon. "That was him," he continues, slowly turning his guilty gaze to Zach's face. "The texts. They were from him. And I got this pang of guilt because here I am with one of my closest friends who I love dearly and miss terribly, and then this text shows up and I felt this weird sense of completion. Like, I've got my friend – you – and also … this." He gestures at his phone lying on the table. "This relationship that's changing, it's becoming something other than friendship, and feeling that connection to this person makes things feel more complete somehow. You're enough. My friends are enough. You're not lacking anything that I need, and yet …"

Zach nods, looking thoughtful. "Miles makes me feel that way. Friendships are important, but that doesn't mean there's no need for romantic ones. I am enough – that's lovely to hear, by the way – and that's great, but I'm one person who shares one type of bond with you. I am enough for what I am to you. I am not enough for your entire life. That's not a sleight to me – to us, your friends. It's not about us."

"Feels like a sleight," Chris says somberly.

"Well, it isn't. I promise you. Tell me, what did you feel when you got those texts just now? Were you feeling like maybe you'd rather be somewhere else?"

"No, of course not."

"But it was still nice to feel that special connection that you have with this other person, a connection you don't have with me."

"Well … yeah."

Zach nods sagely. "There you go. The human heart has an infinite capacity for love. All different types of love. It can be in two places at once without diminishing the importance of either. I'm not saying it would be okay for me to text Miles constantly while I'm with you. But the feeling? The completeness created by that dual connection isn't bad."

Chris is conflicted. Zach is making sense, but it still feels wrong to have been so happy about Simon's texts with Zach sitting right here. Still, he has a point; it isn't as if Chris doesn't want to be here with him. It isn't as if he's spending their time together talking to someone who isn't there. So, what's the harm?

He is spending an awful lot of time talking about himself, though, and after having said that he didn't want to. _Not cool, Pine,_ he thinks.

"You have some solid points there," he says.

"What did he say?" Zach asks.

"Who?"

"Your guy. What did he text you that made you smile like that?"

"Oh." Chris chuckles as his entire head begins burning with embarrassment. "Nothing, just … stuff."

"Private stuff?"

"No, not really. Just … he said that no matter what happens he and I are okay. Our friendship. And that he misses me."

Zach smiles. "That's sweet. Sounds like he really loves you."

Chris lowers his blushing face. "Yeah. I love him too."

"Well," Zach says with a heavy sigh, "maybe it's something that's worth exploring."

Chris looks up at him again in surprise. "What?"

"You clearly care about each other and he seems to make you happy. If his wife is really okay with it – I just don't see how, but if she is, then maybe … I don't know. I don't want to tell you what to do."

"Pfft, since when?"

"I don't want to be blamed when … _if_ it all goes to hell."

Chris smiles to himself at how completely incapable Zach is at hiding his disapproval. "Just being able to talk about this has been really helpful," he assures Zach. "Thanks for, you know, putting up with me."

"It's my pleasure to put up with you."

"Okay, I mean it this time. We're dropping this subject for real."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure. Now, let me ask you something."

"Shoot."

"What is it about eating corn out of a bowl with a small spoon that bugs you so much?"

Zach smiles at that, but Chris takes note of the subtle way he scrunches up his nose ever so slightly as if contemplating something unpleasant. Zach puts his fork down, sits back in his seat and says with a shake of his head, "You just don't understand."

"No, I don't. Please enlighten me."

"Imagine what it might be like if a hamster could use cutlery." Zach brings both hands up to his mouth as if about to place something very tiny in it. "He might as well be eating one kernel at a time."

"Jesus, what goes on with you two when no one else is around?"

"And he has this tea steeper and every single time he uses it he insists on shaking the little tea droplets off the bottom of it. It-it sits on a _saucer_ that is meant to catch those droplets! _Why_ , in the name of everything sacred …"

Listening to someone else's relationship troubles is actually kind of nice, especially when they're this ridiculous. Zach vents his trivial frustrations for the rest of their lunch together and Chris is happy to let him. For the first time in a long time he actually forgets about his own issues. His phone vibrates and he ignores it without a second thought.

 

 

* * *

Later on in the evening, Miles joins them for drinks at a trendy bar. The second Chris walks through the door he begins fantasizing about being back at home with a book and some tea. He can't hide here. The cafe was one thing; most patrons and passersby in L.A. are accustomed to celebrities making random appearances and can keep their cool. In a bar, however, there's alcohol. Chris likes alcohol. He does not like what it does to people. Humans have inhibitions for a reason.

On top of that, there's always some actor or producer or writer with an agenda and difficulty reading signals. Even if someone doesn't know exactly who he is, they assume he's got something going on in "the industry" because who around here doesn't? And he just looks the part. He's been mistaken for other tall, blond actors multiple times. He can't even be mad about it because frankly even he can see the resemblance. Or rather, the lack of distinguishing features. He's not special. Somehow he both sticks out and blends in. Hollywood is a strange place.

He's at the bar on the establishment's second floor grabbing another shot of whiskey when he's approached by someone who comes to stand quietly to his right. He can sort of feel her there before he gets a good look at her. A quick glance reveals she's got tan skin and black wavy hair down to her mid-back. She's not looking when he checks her out, but it's obvious why she's standing here – right here in particular – trying to get the bartender's attention. There's a difference in the presence of someone who's focus is on you versus someone who's just standing nearby. It's like an invasion before anything has even happened. Sometimes it's welcome, sometimes not. Chris has yet to determine which kind this is.

She's attractive, sure, but she's got an air of rebelliousness about her that Chris isn't sure he's into. Her dark eye makeup, distressed jeans tucked into tall black boots and her snug-fitting, cropped leather vest with the silver stud details – it's a bit much. It's like a costume. Not that she doesn't look good in it. Chris just wonders how much of that is her and how much is what she's trying to portray. Everyone's always acting around here, whether they're on a set or not.

"You look familiar," she leans in and says. Thankfully, up here on the second floor, one need not yell nearly as loud to be heard as those on the first floor. The thumping beat of dance music that all sounds the same is rising up from downstairs but it's dampened by distance and hardwood floor, and is a lot more bearable from here.

"I get that a lot," Chris replies with a quick glance at her.

"I'm Layla." She holds out her hand to him. He looks down at it with mild surprise for a moment before shaking it. Layla is very forward.

"Chris. Nice to meet you."

"Chris … Chris …" she chants while she examines his face with a slight squint. She's still holding his hand, gently gripping his fingers in hers when she says, "You're one of them, aren't you?"

"One of who?"

"The Chrises. There are, like, eight of you, aren't there?"

Chris has to smile, half with disappointment, half with amusement. He wonders if there's any point in denying her accusation. He decides it isn't worth it to try. "You got me."

She finally releases his hand, points playfully at him and says, "I knew it!" She hops up onto the bar stool next to him, finally flags down the bartender and orders a Jack and Coke. "What are you up to tonight? You with anyone?"

"Nope." He almost winces at the lie. He doesn't want to get Zach and Miles involved in this. She might be clingy. Or crazy. Or worse: a journalist. But he doesn't want to be caught in a lie, either, so he clarifies, "Well, yeah, but I'm not sure where they are at the moment." Which is sort of true. He left Zach and Miles on the first floor where the dance floor is. The crowd had been getting to him, so he'd excused himself and retreated to the second, slightly less crowded floor, promising to be back shortly. It had only been about five minutes, so they were probably still down there, but Chris couldn't really be sure. So, totally not a lie.

"Cool. My girlfriends are over in the corner by the window. They're all talking about their boyfriends and I got bored. Can't relate."

Ah. Single.

"Yeah, that can be annoying," Chris agrees. He supposes his little break from Zach and Miles might be something similar. At least a little. But he really had been feeling claustrophobic downstairs. Still, he feels a pang of guilt about leaving them.

The bartender sets her drink down in front of her. She hands him a couple of bills and tells him to keep the change.

"What are you working on these days?" she asks. "Anything I should be looking forward to?"

He shoots her a sidelong glance and a lopsided grin. "If I was, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you about it."

"Right, right, all the _secrecy_ these days. It's kind of stupid, don't you think?"

"Actually, yeah, now you mention it. Makes my job difficult. Interviews."

"Because you get asked all kinds of questions you can't answer."

"Exactly."

"That sucks. You handle it very gracefully, though."

"Thanks." He watches her stir her drink with the black stir stick it had come with, delicately holding it between her manicured fingers; long, glossy black nails that come to sharp points. She's wearing a lot of makeup, but when she takes a sip from her glass, not a smudge of her nude pink lipstick is left behind. Impressive. He's been standing this whole time but now he slides onto the bar stool beside her. "What do you do?" he asks.

"Drummer in a band."

"Oh, cool. Have I heard any of your stuff?"

"Not unless you've spent time in WeHo's lesbian scene lately."

Chris cocks his head at her, thinking he's misread the situation. Maybe she isn't hitting on him. She might still be in search of show biz contacts, though.

She glances at him with what looks like either gray or blue eyes; hard to tell in the bar light. Her look is coy and mischievous, which makes him smile uncertainly. He's completely thrown off, but intrigued.

"I'm bi," she says. "Well, pan, actually. But I say bi 'cause it's easier to explain. My bandmates are all different kinds of queer."

"Ah. Cool. That's, uh … interesting."

"Most guys think so," she says with jaded coolness, poking at the ice in her drink with her stir stick.

Chris realizes his mistake instantly. "Oh, wait, no, that's not … I just meant that, uh, I've got a friend who's, um, questioning right now."

She looks at him with interest. "Oh. Sorry, I just assumed –"

"It's okay. I know you must get that type of guy a lot. I swear that's not what I was getting at."

"So, your friend. They think they might be …?"

"Bi, maybe. I dunno. He's not sure yet. He's never been attracted to guys before, but there's this one guy now and it's confusing the fuck out of him."

"How old is he?"

"Uhh … mid-thirties-ish."

She seems unfazed by that, merely nodding and saying, "It happens. This idea that sexuality is a static thing is so fucked up, you know? Tell him not to stress about it."

"I will. I have, but it's complicated. For him."

"Sure, it is. Our society is set up to frighten people into compliance with these bullshit rules about sexuality and gender. It's all about control. It's all brainwashing, man. Letting that shit go is a lifelong process."

"Yeah … you date bi guys?"

"Of course! I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't." She fixes him with her icy gaze and asks, "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Chris says immediately, looking away from her piercing eyes. "Just … he's kind of nervous 'cause some people are weird about it, you know?"

"Oh, I know," she says with a bitter laugh. She raises her glass to her lips, now staring thoughtfully toward the wall of alcohol behind the bar. "I deal with it all the time," she adds before taking a sip.

"I'm sorry," Chris says, watching her. She swallows and meets his eyes again. Upon seeing the sincerity on his face, she gives him a soft smile, and he starts to wonder what she looks like underneath the makeup. Maybe he wants to find out. Maybe soon. Maybe tonight.

"Just be good to your friend," she advises. "Don't judge him. Be willing to admit to your own ingrained prejudices and learn from them. That's what he needs. That's what we all need, really." She twists around to look off into the dark, far corner of the bar. "I should get back to my friends before they send out a search party." She puts her glass down on the bar and grabs a napkin from a nearby stack. She reaches back and pulls a pencil from her back pocket. Or a pencil … crayon? Chris looks more closely at it as she scrawls something on the napkin. Ah. Eyeliner.

"Here's my number," she says, sliding the napkin toward him. She then gets up and picks up her glass. "It was nice meeting you, Chris. Tell the other Chrises to come see me and my band at Girl Bar next Saturday."

"Will do. Thanks for the talk."

She winks and salutes him with two fingers to her forehead. It's only now that he notices the index and middle fingers of her left hand have short, rounded nails, the polar opposite of the others. It only takes him a couple of seconds to figure out why. He smiles to himself. He would never have tried to probe her for details about her sex life, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested.

She turns and disappears into the dark and soon all he can see of her is her silhouette against the night sky outside the big window at the opposite end of the room. He picks up her napkin to examine her long, narrow writing and wonders if she knows which Chris he is. Then he wonders if he cares. Maybe it's better if she isn't concerned with any of that.

He'd completely forgotten about his shot while talking to Layla, so he downs it now and then leaves the second floor. Zach and Miles are right where he'd left them. When he draws near he begins to hear Zach talking loudly to be heard over the music and is soon able to actually make out his words.

"… that it's indicative of the fundamental breakdown of our society as a community and creates the illusion that we can survive in isolation –"

"Oh my god," Chris groans, coming around to Miles's side of the table and sitting next to him on the cushy bench against the wall. He lays his arm across the backrest behind Miles without a second thought. Zach is in a chair opposite them. "Is he talking about Pokemon Go again? If he is, I'm leaving."

"No, just technology in general this time," Miles says, sounding bored. He looks up from his phone to give Chris a "welcome back" smile.

"Oh, hello, nice of you to join us," Zach says. At first Chris thinks Zach is talking to him but soon sees that he's addressing Miles. He doesn't seem truly annoyed, though. The little glint in his eyes as he watches Miles shows that; they're luminous even in the dimness, for a moment lit up only for his partner. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt your Tweet session?"

"I was listening to your little diatribe," Miles assures him. "I've just heard it _so_ many _times_ already –"

"I just wish you'd make up your mind," Chris tells Zach. "You berate me for my antiquated phone and then get on his case for simply using his. Which is it?" He looks to Miles and asks, "Is he like this at home?"

 _"Yes,"_ Miles says emphatically. He's lounging with his long legs outstretched beneath the table and crossed at the ankles. He's dressed similarly to how Zach was earlier; plain white tee and jeans. He's sipping beer from a bottle and making mischievous eyes at Zach while bemoaning Zach's absurdness. Chris listens with a huge grin. He briefly considers telling Miles about Zach's issues with how he eats corn and makes tea but decides that would be crossing a line. _You don't talk about another man's tea, son,_ quips the voice in his head.

"The existence of the technology isn't the problem," Zach continues. "It has its uses, but the gradual shunning of face-to-face communication –"

"– is necessary if we want to progress," Miles interrupts. "Did it ever occur to you that not everyone gets the support they need from people they know in person? And not everyone is comfortable with face-to-face conversation. Our current technology connects those people who might otherwise be isolated. We're connected now to so much more of the world than ever before. We're reaching outward, not inward. Yes, the anonymity the technology affords us can be problematic, but I don't see how going backwards could be a step in the right direction."

Zach gives Miles a soft smile and an appraising look, as if he's impressed and might be rethinking his own position. Or at least editing it a little. His arm is draped along the back of the empty chair next to him and his opposite hand is holding his beer. He's changed into a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, collar unbuttoned enough to expose some chest hair. Miles takes a drink and appears to now be pretending not to notice Zach's interested gaze. A quick glance at Miles shows that he's only half succeeding at keeping the pleased little smile off his face. They're communicating, flirting without even looking at each other. Chris might have felt awkward sitting there with them if he wasn't so fascinated. Is this how obvious he and Simon have been? He doesn't see how that's possible, seeing as any sexual interest between them wasn't even conscious until now, but he supposes them being unaware of their own actions might make them even more obvious than this.

As if to rub salt in the wound he's inflicting by out-arguing Zach, Miles fiddles with his phone again while Zach watches. It feels almost scandalous, like Miles is having an affair right in front of him. After a minute, Miles looks up again and adds, "Besides, it's not as if this is a new thing. The technology is different, but we aren't. Humans aren't. People have been looking for ways to ignore each other since the beginning of time and it hasn't stopped us from continuing to seek each other out for companionship. We'll be fine. We'll adapt, I assure you."

Miles continues to playfully argue, making some very solid points and eliciting more possessive gazes from Zach. When Chris gets the chance, he interjects, "You shoulda seen his face light up when he got notifications from whatever you were doing online earlier."

"Oh, he's a hypocrite, all right," Miles agrees, completely unfazed. "He's lucky he's cute. Aww, he looks so lonely over there all by himself."

Chris examines Miles's profile as he makes cute pouty faces at his boyfriend. His dark curls hang in his eyes, giving his chiseled good looks a sweet boyishness. He's teasing Zach mercilessly, but not just with words. He's begun cuddling up to Chris a little, sitting closer and leaning against him. It's just a game. As far as Miles is concerned, Chris is perfectly heterosexual, and when Chris flirts back, Miles doesn't think it's serious.

Well, it _isn't_ serious.

And Chris _is_ heterosexual. Probably.

Zach has noticed. He's got a hint of a smug smile on his face as he silently watches Chris and Miles. Zach isn't a smug guy, but he is confident, and that reads all over him tonight. He isn't even remotely concerned that Miles is about to run off with anyone else. In fact, if Chris didn't know better, he'd say Zach was enjoying the show.

Huh.

"Think he's jealous?" Chris asks, casting little glances at Zach to make sure he's watching and listening.

"Nah," Miles replies, apparently thinking the same as Chris. "I think he's intrigued. I mean, we are both really cute, you and me. We'd be super hot together."

Zach smiles for real now, wide and bright, glances away with a shake of his head and sips his beer. When he swallows and looks back at them with his quiet confidence, he locks eyes with Miles first, then Chris. Chris smiles impishly at him, biting his bottom lip for a second before giving him a playful wink. Zach arches an eyebrow at him in such a Spock-like way, it's ridiculous. His stare is starting to feel like a dare. _You think you want to? You think you got it in you to go there with a man? Go on. I'll wait._

Chris considers. Could he kiss Miles? Is that something he wants to do? It hadn't ever crossed his mind before and he's not sure it would do anything for him. Would Miles even be okay with that? He is awfully cuddly.

As attractive as Miles is, though, Chris doesn't think Miles would be his type if he was into guys. Honestly, Zach is more his type, but Zach is … well, Zach is Zach. He's not love-interest material, he's … he's _Zach_.

But for one brief, crazy moment, Chris wonders what it might be like if they all ended up in bed together tonight; lazy alcohol-laced kisses, Chris's stomach fluttering with nerves and heart racing, his touch halting and unsure as if he was a teenager again. Someone else's hands taking hold of his to guide them …

He makes himself really look at the idea, take note of his own reactions, but the results are inconclusive. He can't look at Zach that way without wanting to laugh, and Miles just isn't his type.

What if he could somehow end up cuddled with Simon one night? Maybe still a little tipsy, all warm and relaxed, happy to let Simon touch and explore him. That's the thought that makes Chris the happiest of late; being with someone else's husband. He figures he must have taken several wrong turns in life to get to this point.

He runs his free hand over the palm-size lump in his pocket; his phone. As opposed as he is to constant connection to everyone and everything, he's happy he has it sometimes. For certain people in certain situations.

He was considering shooting Simon a text (since his phone is apparently capable of that), but decides against it. He can't do that. He can't start relying on someone else's husband for the type of companionship he should be getting from a girlfriend. Or … boyfriend?

The depressant part of the alcohol is starting to kick in, and if it weren't for the soft vibration in his pocket, Chris would've let it take him. He would have sat there brooding about feeling alone in a room full of people, and eventually Miles would gravitate back to Zach, leaving ol' Third-Wheel Pine without any company for his misery.

He'd normally ignore his phone under these circumstances, but he's grateful for the distraction. He's even more distracted when he sees the name and number on the phone's front display.

"Uhh …" he begins, gently pulling away from Miles. "Sorry, I gotta take this. Be right back."

It takes him too long to maneuver through the crowded bar to the restrooms. By the time he gets to an area that isn't quite as loud, the call has already gone to voicemail.

"Shit," he curses under his breath as he ducks into the men's room. He's greeted by a thankfully empty room of dark gray tile and black stall doors. He paces before the sinks as he redials the number.

"Hello?" says a female voice after two rings. She must know it's him, but her 'hello' sounds like a question anyway.

"Hey, uh, sorry I didn't pick up before. I'm not at home."

"Oh, that's all right. I was just leaving you a message asking you to call me ba – hang on."

Val moves the phone from her face, maybe even covers the mouth piece a bit, as she says something to someone else. Chris can't quite make out her words and he wonders who she's with.

"Sorry about that," she says to him, her voice clear again. "Yeah, um, I'm sorry to interrupt your evening."

"No, it's okay. I'm with Zach and Miles. We're just hanging out at some bar. What's up? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just wanted to maybe talk a bit."

Chris tries to will his body not to react, but he tenses up anyway. His skin prickles with nerves and he's instantly on edge, jumpy, as if preparing to be attacked at any second. Which may very well be the case, but his anxiety completely ignores the very important differences between a physical and a verbal attack. "What about?" he asks as casually as he can.

She sighs. "I hate doing this over the phone."

Chris stops pacing and frowns in confusion. "Doing what? We already broke up. What else is there?"

"We didn't really break up."

"What are you talking about? You told me you didn't think we wanted the same thing and that you needed to –"

"Step away from the relationship for a while. Those were my exact words. That's not a break-up."

"Well, you coulda fooled me."

"Chris … I've seen the tabloids."

"Oh? What'd I do now? Check into rehab? Start a harem?"

"Hold that second thought."

"Oh, come on –"

"Yeah, I know tabloids are gross and usually inaccurate, but I'm not so sure about their inaccuracy this time."

"What's your point?" Chris's voice is calm and steady but stretched taught enough to make his words come out in tense little beats.

"Seeing as you apparently already thought we'd broken up, I guess there's nothing more to say," Val replies. The maddening thing is that she doesn't even sound that upset. She didn't call to pick a fight about whoever Chris has been seeing since she dumped-but-apparently-didn't-really-dump him. He knows now why she's called; she wants to end it for real this time. She hadn't been avoiding an awkward conversation when she'd said she needed a break. She'd actually needed a break.

"So, I guess this is really it, then, huh?" he mumbles as he shoves his free hand in his pocket and looks down at the floor. He suddenly feels like a child; knobby knees sticking out of the legs of his shorts, sneakered feet kicking a stone around the pavement while one of his school teachers reprimands him in that annoyingly gentle way.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I thought maybe we could work it out, but then I saw you were up to your old tricks and I'm just –"

"I never cheated on you – I mean, not on purpose. This time doesn't … I didn't realize we weren't –"

"I know, Chris. I know you didn't. It's not that. Your promiscuity is just a symptom. The problem doesn't go away just because you can be monogamous for a few months or a year, or several years even."

"So what exactly is the problem?"

"You're just not ready. I want a family. You know that, you always knew that. And I know it's partially my own fault for getting involved with you in the first place. We both knew what the other was when we started dating."

"And we each thought we could change the other's mind," Chris adds.

"And the minute you think you're single, you're in bed with someone else," she says. "I'm not judging you, I'm just saying that that's what I'm talking about. You say you want one thing, but your actions say something else. And no, it's not just the other women who magically pop up the second I'm out of the picture. It's the way your friends always mention how they've heard so little about me, it's you showing up one day with a sports car with no back seat, as if that's practical –"

"I sold that. You were right and I got rid of it. It was stupid. I don't know what I was thinking with that."

"It wasn't the car, Chris. It's the reason for the car. You were making a point. You were telling me that you're not thinking about the future, not in the same way I am. You went out and bought that car the _day_ after we had our last really big discussion about marriage."

Interesting how she calls it a discussion. What he remembers is a fight.

"You want to be a good boyfriend but still do whatever you want. It doesn't work that way."

He says nothing to that. He could lie and claim that the tabloids are just doing what tabloids do; making shit up. But what would be the point? First of all, she's got receipts on him that have nothing to do with sex. Second, he doesn't exactly want her back. He wants to appear to be the kind of person she wants, but a lot goes into a facade like that and it's not fair to the people who get dragged into it. Like props in a play, like set dressing; only there to make the show feel real.

"Chris?" she says when he remains quiet. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. You're right, it's, uh … it's better this way."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. I strung you along. That wasn't fair or very mature of me and I apologize."

"I do love you, you know."

He smiles faintly, though the corners of his mouth feel heavy. "I love you, too."

"I should let you get back to your evening. Say hi to Zach and Miles for me."

They say goodbye and she hangs up before he does. He lowers his phone from his face and stares at the "call ended" message on the screen below her name. The length of the call is also displayed. The numbers blink at him as if trying to get his attention; _This is how long it took for her to end it._ It's just over five minutes.

Of course, Chris knows it wasn't five minutes. It was much longer than that for her. It had been months of going back and forth on the issue, of not being sure either way, because Chris can be so convincing and charming, because half the time he hadn't known what he wanted either. And he'd kept her on his hook while he tried to figure it out. Not for the first time he gets a sickening pang of guilt in his gut. He wishes it had only been five minutes for her.

Someone enters the restroom just then. A young man who looks like he's in his twenties, a little younger than Miles probably. Chris tries to act natural, clears his throat as he steps away from the wall. He hurries by the man, to the door, and briefly wonders if "Chris Pine leaves restroom without washing his hands" is going to be the next tabloid headline that Val reads.

The rest of the night happens in a fog. Chris remembers having a couple more shots, vaguely remembers dancing with Miles while Zach looked on, amused. Before they part ways at the end of the night, they make plans to get together the next day – or technically later on the same day. Preferably much later, judging by how Chris feels at the moment.

Back at his house, moonlight welcomes him home. He'd left the blinds up, so he's greeted by the soft silvery glow. He decides not to turn on any lights just yet.

He tosses his keys onto the little catch-all table by the door, and misses. The keys clatter to the floor, which makes him stop in his tracks for a second and glance back at them. He decides it's too much trouble to go two steps back to pick them up, and continues on his way.

Deeper into the sprawling one-story house to the bedroom where the large bamboo blinds are also all raised. He undresses down to his underwear, then into the bathroom for some rushed bedtime hygiene and to take out his contacts. Then back to the unmade bed where he gets under the covers and stares up at the ceiling.

He considers calling or texting Simon back. He still hasn't responded to the texts from earlier. Maybe he should wait for a more reasonable hour. Having not heard from Chris yet, Simon's probably off to bed now.

So instead Chris just lies there, thinking too much to sleep. What would he be doing right now if Simon was there with him? Why is he even thinking about that? Why isn't he thinking about any of the attractive women he'd seen tonight that he could've flirted with? Why isn't he thinking about Layla? Where the hell did he even put her number? He thinks it's in the back pocket of his pants, which are currently in a puddle of fabric on the bedroom floor. He'll have a look when he wakes up.

What's strange is that Simon is both familiar and a complete unknown. They've known each other for nearly ten years, but Chris isn't sure what their relationship is anymore. And if something physical did happen between them, it would be new territory for them both. Ironically, bringing a stranger home tonight would've felt more familiar.

But which would he have enjoyed more? That's the question. He's had more than a few mediocre encounters with beautiful women he didn't really know. Feelings are important. An emotional connection is important.

Wait, that's the question? Shouldn't he be focusing on finding a real romantic partner? Or some kind of purpose or contentment in his life in general? Aren't those the real questions?

Yes, they are. But the rather daunting tasks they demand of him scare him too much to think about right now.

He lies in the dark and waits. He doesn't want to relax just yet, knowing that as soon as he does, Mr. Intrusive Thoughts is going to pop up and say something either vulgar or a little too on-the-nose for comfort. Chris waits. Nothing happens. So he rolls onto his side and shuts his eyes, wondering if his imaginary frenemy has taken a break because something Chris did or said or thought tonight proved whatever point it was trying to make.

His eyes take note of the time every couple of minutes until he's been lying there for half an hour. He should be passed out by now. Having a few drinks always makes him sleepy. But instead he finds himself reaching for his phone and curling up with it beneath his duvet. He decides a text is less inappropriate for this time of night than a call. A quick little beep might not even wake Simon up if he's already asleep. Chris sends a simple "hi" and then waits.

Five minutes later:

 

> :)

 

Then immediately afterward:

 

> _"Why the fuck aren't you asleep yet?"_

 

Chris smiles broadly at the little screen. He's about to reply when another text arrives.

 

> _"Can I call?"_

 

Chris doesn't bother texting back, instead just calling Simon himself.

"Or we can do it your way," Simon says when he answers.

"Lemme ask you something," says Chris. "I was out at a bar tonight with Zach and Miles –"

"Oh yeah? How are they?"

"They're fine. Old-married-couple status was in full effect. Just listen. I was at this bar and Zach and Miles were doing what all couples involuntarily do to their single friends; making me feel like a sad, broken toy someone left in a corner all by itself."

"Aw, baby, I'm sorry."

Chris smiles at the pet name. Simon's called him this before, but now – now that they know – it feels different. More possessive. More private.

"So riddle me this," Chris continues. "I was at this bar, feeling lonely and surrounded by beautiful, available women. I could've brought someone home with me. I didn't have to be alone. So why did I wanna do nothing more than curl up with my phone and talk to you?"

"You want something more than just sex."

"I had something more, remember?"

"She wasn't right for you."

"And you are?"

Simon sighs. "I dunno. I can't answer that."

"Am I right for you, then?"

Hesitation. Or just deep thought. Chris supposes this isn't the type of question one should take lightly. Still, he's acutely aware of the pounding of his own heart during Simon's silence. He feels it in his chest, inside his head; a pulsing pressure. It's like he's monitoring his own vitals, anticipating a major cardiac event to occur when Simon says whatever he's about to say.

"I think …" Simon begins cautiously. "I think that our circumstances – you and Val, me and Meredith – not to mention Meredith finally telling me what's she's been dealing with all these years, has left us both sort of in limbo."

"Okay."

"There's a piece missing from both our lives. An empty space. And we can each feel it. I've felt it for a long time. And I think you have, too."

Chris remains quiet while Simon pauses, wondering if Simon can hear the quiver in his breaths. He tries to steady his breathing but his anxious heart won't allow it.

"I can't speak for you," Simon says. "I can't tell you what's going to fulfill you. But for myself, I can say with at least some degree of certainty that it feels as if you fit the empty space quite nicely."

Chris still doesn't speak. What would he say? Besides, he senses Simon isn't finished yet.

"Meredith's got her own thing goin' on," Simon says sullenly. "And me … I feel like I'm ready for something, you know? It's this anxiousness that won't let me relax, like I know something needs to happen. They say if you're looking elsewhere for solutions to problems in your relationship, in your marriage, then that's a problem in itself. But I think Meredith and I are past that now. I no longer believe that our solution lies within each other. We're … I don't think we're broken. I think we're just changing."

Chris feels oddly weepy, shaky. He knows what Simon meant when he mentioned his anxiousness. These days Chris often feels like a soda bottle that someone's shaken up. He feels it now, as if every emotion in him has been held back too long. Things he might have done in the past to ease the pressure aren't working anymore. Something needs to happen. Something new needs to happen.

"Chris?" Simon says when Chris remains quiet. "Is that the answer you wanted?"

Chris rolls onto his back, pushes the covers down to his stomach. He keeps his eyes closed and pays close attention to what his body is doing. There's that rush, that cocktail of nerves and arousal and restlessness, that shot of near giddiness that lights up his brain. Dopamine. He's aware of every sensation; the cooler air outside his blankets touching his chest, the touch of his tongue on his lips.

"Yes," he replies. He may as well have jumped off a cliff. His stomach is basically telling him that he has. "What happens now?"

"When we see each other again, I think things will be very different. Meredith, erm … I wanted to tell you yesterday. I tried to tell you but I chickened out. She needs answers too, about what you and I are to each other, and she thinks … there's only one way for us to find those answers. You and me, I mean."

Chris's eyes fly open. "Wait, she told you to –"

"Yeah. I wanted to tell you in part because I wanted you to tell me it was stupid. I wanted you to laugh about it with me and tell me that she was just overreacting. Part of me wanted you to reassure me that nothing was going to change."

"And the other part of you?"

"The other part of me finally had permission. That was all it ever wanted … Chris? You okay?"

Chris isn't sure. He doesn't know what to make of what Simon's just told him. Do they really have the go-ahead here? Do they even really want it? Is Meredith really all right? Chris has his doubts about that last one. She's a woman resigned. She wants answers and sees no other way to get them. If she didn't hate Chris before, she surely does now.

Would he be doing Meredith a favor by "helping" Simon figure this thing out? Or would he only be doing himself a favor? No, Chris is definitely not okay.

And he can only think of one way to remedy that, at least temporarily.

"Um, you wouldn't happen to be at all … in the mood right now, would you?" he asks. His voice feels shaky. He hates all this tension. Every question he asks Simon lately feels like a time bomb.

Silence on the other end of the line. And then a soft creak as of a door being opened. Or closed.

"I'm here," Simon says, as if he's been gone for several minutes. But that's not what he means. He's not telling Chris that he's there on the phone. It's something else. "I'm here with you," he adds.

It's an answer to Chris's question, to both of Chris's questions, even the unspoken one. "Do you want to?" is one thing. "Will you?" is quite another. And the answer to both is 'yes'.

Okay. All right. This is happening. This is a thing that is happening. H'oh boy.

It's exciting, sure. Dangerous, thrilling. But mostly it feels like a perfectly natural progression of their relationship. Logically speaking, this is probably not at all cool, but every part of Chris's brain and body says otherwise.

He keeps the covers over his head to trap the heat and enhance the experience. He syncs his own breaths with Simon's increasingly heavy breathing. And he just lets it happen; the connection, almost like merging, that happens during sex. That _can_ happen. With the right person. It's so perfect, neither one of them has to announce their climax or ask about the other's. It's easy to tell through sound and maybe something else too. Maybe instinct. Maybe Chris's body just knows when Simon's about to come. It's happened before, with other lovers. It's a quiver in his partner's body, in their breathing, their voice. It's a shudder in the air. Chris feels that now despite the miles between them. His body always responds as if pulled along by his partner's, almost helpless to resist, not that he wants to.

Simon has to be quiet. The groans he can't stifle into hard breaths come out in strained little grunts. Chris has no such constraints on him and he knows Simon wants to hear him. So he obliges, and it's not a performance merely for Simon's benefit. Every sound he makes is genuine and necessary, like sighs of relief as the pressure inside him escapes. It's the most free and unburdened he's felt in months.

Afterward, in the stillness, with Simon's slowing breathing in his ear, he pushes the covers down to let cool air touch his damp skin as a creeping tendril of doubt curls its way around the edges of his mind. This was probably a mistake. The friendship is fucked for sure now.

Meredith.

But the annoying voice stays quiet. Which almost troubles Chris more than if it was pestering him.

"You okay?" Simon suddenly asks.

"Me? Yeah, of course." Chris smiles, relieved to hear Simon sounding so normal, if a little winded. "I'm great. I was wondering about you, actually."

"I'm fine, I … just wondering if anything's changed. Between us. Sort of flexing my mental muscles, see if I've pulled anything, you know?"

"And?"

"Feels all right. I think. Nothing's tender, nothing's tight, nothing hurts."

"Nothing hurts," Chris echoes. It just comes out with his next breath. It feels like the most dangerous, scandalous thing he's said to Simon, more so than any of his dirty talk, more than his fevered panting and desperate moans as he'd jerked himself off a moment ago. They've shown each other things friends probably shouldn't share, and it's fine. It's good. Nothing hurts.

Wild.

"Can we keep it this way?" he asks.

"Let's not talk about that now. It's late. I'd rather not send you to bed with questions like that. I want you to fall asleep sated and happy."

"Done. Halfway there already." Chris's eyes are indeed already closed.

"I love you," Simon adds.

"I love you," Chris replies, leaving off the "too". For some reason it always sounded inauthentic to him. Like a child crowing "Me too! Me too!", trying to one-up a classmate who's bragging about all the neat toys they got for Christmas. As if he wouldn't have said it if Simon hadn't said it first. "Too" feels juvenile, and they're past that now.

They hang up and Chris uses what little energy he has left to grab tissues from the nightstand and clean himself up. He falls asleep with his phone at his side and feels perfectly content. No annoying voices. The emptiness in bed next to him is now completely gone. It no longer feels like some gaping, echoing chasm where a warm body should be. It's just a bed. Later on he'll wonder why. Why does everything suddenly feel okay? Why tonight? Why after crossing that line with Simon? For now, though, he sleeps soundly.

 

**End of Chapter 3**

[Tumblr](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com) • [Twitter](http://twitter.com/MaxWrite)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter includes an [interview from 2014](http://www.ellecanada.com/culture/celebrity/article/chris-pine-talks-facial-hair-friendship-and-fragrance) in which Chris briefly mentions that a lot of his friends are getting married and having kids. And an article that was more tabloid-y which said something about how all Chris's friends were urging him to settle down or something. Who knows how accurate that is. Can't link to it 'cause it's not there anymore. I don't remember what year it was from, either.
> 
> There's also a couple of interesting videos from bisexual romance author A. Anders ([BisexualRealTalk](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCQnaUjRY_egj2rNl4yMJQNg/featured))
> 
>   * [Are You Bisexual?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUQspwQ6hxs)
>   * [What is Bisexual?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XBnG5Anu8C8)
> 

> 
> And this [interesting bit of Pinto meta](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8266790). It's long. It gave me some ideas about Chris's character and his relationship with Zach.

**Author's Note:**

> **~~EVIDENCE~~ Notes, a.k.a. Where the Heck is All This Coming From:**
> 
> **Cuteness during the _Star Trek Beyond_ press tour:**
>
>> **London Premiere**  
> [1](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/150883112612/summermint), [2](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/147371182647)
>> 
>> **Seoul premiere**  
> [1](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/149031165292/tinar-ru-chris-pine-and-simon-pegg-attend-the), [2](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/149141189847/summermint-and-nowcan-i-ship-hard-these)
>> 
>> **Beijing premiere**   
>  [1](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/149168938862)
>> 
>> **Chris ffs**  
> [1](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/150389657852/iamtribblesome-chris-pine-zachary-quinto) (video, in which Simon says something suspect – oh he knOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE'S DOING)  
> [2](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/150515503532/iamtribblesome-naughty-boys-can-we-talk) (just gifs from the vid)
>> 
>> **Beijing Q &A**  
> [1](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/150972962062/miyabi24451-star-trek-beyond-aug192016) (the last picture with the hand on the face – Chris you dork)
> 
> **And Various Odds & Ends**
>
>> [1](http://maxwrite.tumblr.com/post/150072066397/silent-bridge-captainprincesskk-a-very)   
> 
> 
> All right, so, I've been wanting to explore this relationship for, like, eight years or so. No joke. Their public flirtation goes back quite a ways, all the way back to the London premiere of _Star Trek '09_. It's really quite adorable. I've been low-key shipping them since then, but got hella sidetracked by [Hockey Night](http://archiveofourown.org/series/16584), where the dynamics just came easier to me. The truth of it is, I was just never able to see how Chris and Simon could fit together. But I think I get it now.
> 
> Couple things.
> 
> First, don't hate Meredith, okay? She's not the villain here. When it comes to relationship issues, I'm far more interested in showing both/all sides fairly than in villainizing characters. She didn't cause her marital issues alone, and she hasn't done anything out of spite. Simon isn't the villain, either. They both fucked up, put their marriage on the back burner for too long and they ended up looking elsewhere for things that they should've been getting from each other.
> 
> Meredith exists because I wanted the challenge. I've already explored the issues of celebrity complicating a relationship in my other series, and that will certainly come up here too (if I get to that point), but I wanted a different challenge for this pairing. What if Simon was married? What if his marriage had issues that might have facilitated his flirtation with Chris? Sorry this can't just be all cutesy fluff. Fluff is nice. But from a writer's perspective, this is just damned interesting to explore.
> 
> Second, I've decided to post this in chapters, something I hate doing. It gives me anxiety. But the fact is I've been working on this damn thing for months now and the thought of editing the entire thing all at once freaks me out. That kind of thing just doesn't come easily to me anymore. And I've been promising to write this thing for a long time now, so I feel the need to just start posting it already.
> 
> That's all. Thanks for reading!


End file.
